


Neighbors

by The_Queen_In_The_North



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Kink, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, Non-con kiss, Oral Sex, Plot in progress, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Romance, Sexual Tension, Suspense, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:14:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 59,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26098471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Queen_In_The_North/pseuds/The_Queen_In_The_North
Summary: Sansa Stark has just moved to the capital of Westeros and discovers that she has the most singular new neighbor of them all.*Modern AU but with some Westerosi jargon sprinkled in*This story is on hiatus, but I do intend on finishing it!
Relationships: Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 307
Kudos: 345





	1. Chapter 1

_Gods, why did I decide to live on the third floor?_

Sansa Stark carried two large storage bins up the unusually steep flight of stairs in the oppressive summer heat, gradually and painfully moving herself into her new apartment. _I should have let Uncle Brynden help me...but then Arya would be left alone. And we all know how that would play out._ Sansa cringed just thinking of her little sister’s last house party when their late mother’s uncle had to travel across Westeros. _Only my sister would pick up fencing as a sport and then try to show off her skills while drunk._ Arya had sent three boys to the hospital that night. _No, I could not have left her alone. And now I have to move myself in_ — _alone._

The bins were stacked on top of one another, leaving Sansa blind to what lay in front of her, which made going up the stairs that much harder. When she was halfway there, Sansa heard rapid, heavy footsteps approaching as somebody behind her ascended the stairs. That somebody halted just as quick once they discovered her blocking the way.

“What are you waiting for, girl?” the somebody asked her. It was a man, a large one by the sound of his footsteps, and he had a rough, rasping voice. When Sansa tried to look over her shoulder at him, she nearly fell backwards against his chest, forcing him to place his hands on her back so she wouldn’t tip over. His hands were large, too.

“Oh, forgive me,” Sansa quickly said, still blind of the man behind her.

“Seven hells, you’re like to make us both tumble down these bloody stairs. Give me those,” the rasping voice said. 

Sansa pressed herself against the railing so that he could reach around to relieve her from carrying the incapacitating weight. Once he effortlessly took the bins from her, Sansa tried to look at his face, but he just as quickly walked in front of her to ascend the stairs. _He’s nearly as large as the Umbers,_ she thought, remembering her late father’s friends. 

“What‘s your apartment number, girl?”

Sansa quickly followed him, her arms weak after exerting her muscles for so long, and said, “Three hundred— thank you.”

“So, you’re across from me then. That means those dumb cunts who were living there moved out after all. Thank the buggering gods.”

She was numb to the relentless cursing. Her Uncle Brynden was quite fond of grumbling about all of Westeros, cursing after every other word. Sansa and her siblings had moved in with him after her father, mother, and eldest brother had been assassinated by an ‘unknown’ political extremist. Even though that had been years ago, five to be exact, it hurt all the same. 

The burly man helping her stopped just outside her door and placed the bins onto the ground, tireless. When he turned around to face her, Sansa was awestruck. Though the left half of his face was severely scarred, burnt directly by flame if Sansa had to guess, it did not shock her out of fear. It shocked her because she found him comely in the strangest way. His hair was dark and thin, falling to his shoulders. His eyes were grey, but not dark like her father’s had been, more like the color of a raincloud. Though his nose was large and hooked, it was fitting for a man of his stature, flattering even. Practically everything about him was masculine, his lips, his broad chest, his heavy brow. Sansa couldn’t stop looking at him, and that appeared to irritate him.

“Not a very pretty sight, is it, girl?”

Sansa only realized then that her mouth was slightly open while gazing upon him, and she suddenly felt aroused. “Come again?”

“I see you staring,” he said accusingly. “Go on, ask me.”

“Ask you what?”

“How I got these scars.”

Although it was obvious he was trying to scare her, she sensed a little bit of misery in his voice. Sansa shrugged and unconsciously played with the braid in her long, auburn hair. “It does not matter. They are only scars.”

Whatever it was about her response, it seemed to be the right one. Sansa sensed the man ease and then _he_ was the one staring, his grey eyes shifting up and down to take in the sight of her. Something about his concentrated stare made her feel as good as naked.

“What’s your name?” he asked. The tone of his voice was still rough but somewhat softer than before.

“Sansa,” she said rather meekly. 

“Sansa,” he repeated thoughtfully. “A pretty name.” The compliment made her cheeks blush, but luckily he’d never be able to tell since her face was flushed from the summer heat. 

After a brief moment of silently relishing in the flattering remark, Sansa suddenly remembered her manners. “Thank you. What’s yours?” 

He appeared to contemplate that for a moment, as if there were multiple answers to the one simple question before finally saying, “Sandor.”

 _It’s somewhat similar to my name,_ she thought, but decided not to say that to save herself from potentially sounding like a child. “I like it. It’s...strong.” 

“ _Strong?”_ he snorted. “That’s the first time I’ve heard that.”

Sansa took another indulgent glance at his heavily-muscled body, the red, cotton shirt he wore sticking to his sweaty skin, and said, “Truly? I would have thought you’d hear that often.”

“I was referring to my name, girl,” he said, a shadow of a smile playing on his lips.

The blunder made her want to tumble down the stairs after all. “Of course,” she muttered, trying to play it off. Sansa reached into the front pocket of her denim shorts and pulled out the key to her apartment. “Well, thank you, Sandor,” she said. 

He stared at her, almost longingly, before lowering his gaze towards the bins. “I assume you have more you need carried up.”

“Yes, but I can manage,” she lied. 

Sandor squinted at her as if he could smell the lie. “Is that what you call what you were doing on the stairs? Managing it?”

Sansa looked down at her feet to hide the smile forming on her lips. “I would have made it...eventually.”

“No father, brother, or boyfriend to help you?”

It was such a crafty question that she almost didn’t realize he was inquiring if she was single. _Or maybe he’s not and I only wish he was._ “My father is...dead. And I do have brothers, but one is disabled, one lives way up north, and the other is just a boy.” In order to determine whether he _did_ want to know her relationship status, Sansa intentionally left out the boyfriend part. 

In truth, Sansa had only recently become single, breaking up with her boyfriend of several years, Harry Hardyng, after she had learned of him cheating on her for the fifth time _. Harry may be handsome with his blonde hair and blue eyes, but he was nothing more than a foolish, dishonest man-child. And as comely as he may be, not even he piqued my fascination like my new neighbor does._

“I’m sorry about your father,” was all that he said. 

Sansa cringed. _I’m so stupid. Why would a man I just met, one who is clearly several years older than me, care if I am single? I’m so_ —

“And the boyfriend?” 

Her vivid blue eyes shot up from her feet and onto his face, hoping she did not just imagine the question. When he appeared to be awaiting a response, she said, “Oh, I don’t have one.”

The left side of his mouth twitched and she thought he meant to smile. Instead he cleared his throat and gestured towards the door. “Go on and open it, girl. I’ll bring in these two,” he said, tapping the bins with his foot, “and if you show me where you’re parked, I’ll carry in the rest.”

Sansa was smitten by the offer, but she didn’t want to seem like she was taking advantage of him. _And my mother and father are like to curse me from their graves for letting a grown man into my apartment._ “That’s very kind of you, but I don’t want—”

“Spare me, girl. You sound like some pretty little talking bird reciting your courtesies to me,” Sandor said. Just when she thought he was becoming frustrated with her, he quickly added, “I want to help.”

That time, she didn’t try to hide her smile. “All right,” she surrendered. _Forgive me, mother and father,_ she thought as she placed the key into the door and turned the latch, sighing with relief once she felt that the air conditioning was already on. 

“Not fond of the heat, I take it?” Sandor asked as he carried in her belongings behind her.

“No,” Sansa answered, surveying the clean, fully-furnished one bedroom apartment. It smelled fresh, citrusy even. “I’m from the North. Well, I was, and then I moved to the Riverlands after my parents died.”

He sat the bins down softly and crossed his arms over his brawny chest, leaning his back against the wall in the living room. “Your mother, too?”

“And my eldest brother,” Sansa added as she sat on the beige couch, praying she would not start crying in front of him. 

Sandor remained silent for a moment, his gaze scorching. “What’s your name?"

“What? I’ve already—”

“Your family name, girl.”

“Stark...why?”

“Seven hells,” Sandor said, his eyes growing wide. “You’re Eddard Stark’s daughter.”

“You knew my father?” asked Sansa, incredulous herself.

“Not personally, but I used to work in the Red Keep. I was there when…” 

“When his car was bombed with him, my mother, and my brother inside?” she finished. Somehow, talking about it with her new neighbor was comforting rather than sad. 

“Aye,” he said solemnly.

“It would have been all of us in that car— me, my sister, my other brothers, but we stayed home. My father’s trip was supposed to be short, to help with Robert Baratheon’s reelection, but someone must have hated him and my father enough to assassinate them.”

Sandor watched her warily and asked, “Who do you think did it?” 

_Cersei Lannister, former wife to Robert Baratheon who conveniently ran for election upon his death and won, now serving her second term as President of Westeros._ She would have said it, but her Uncle Brynden warned her of speaking ill of Cersei Lannister in public. “You never know who she’s paying, you never know who she’s fucking,” Brynden Blackfish would always say.

“I don’t know,” Sansa mumbled instead. 

He started to mutter something, but changed his mind. 

“You said you worked in the Red Keep,” she said to end the lingering silence. “Doing what?”

“I worked security for the Baratheons, mainly guarding that little blonde cunt son of theirs.”

“Joffrey Baratheon?”

Sandor grimaced at the name. “I stopped serving that family once Robert died. The government has gone to shit since then, so I said fuck politics and fuck politicians. Now I work security elsewhere in the city, odd-end jobs, who gives a shite. Enough about me, girl. Why leave the Riverlands to come to the capital?”

“I’m studying politics...” she said quietly, “...to be a politician.”

He immediately looked remorseful and lowered his arms to his sides. “What I said about politicians-”

Sansa couldn’t help but giggle at his sudden nervousness, a curious sight for a man so large and fierce. “It’s all right. The reason I want to go into politics is because it _is_ corrupt; I want to change that and fight for what my father fought for when he was Robert’s manager. My father would have made a great politician, but he never liked the attention. And my brother, Robb, was studying politics at Crownlands University, too, before he was killed.”

“Sounds like a dangerous profession, girl.” Sandor sounded concerned for her considering she was a stranger to him.

“I’m not afraid,” said Sansa far more confidently than she felt.

Her neighbor looked at her reverently before stepping away from the wall. “Come show me where you’re parked and I’ll bring up the rest of your stuff. I’d wager you’re wanting to rest after the drive here.”

With a twinkling smile, Sansa stood from the couch and walked towards the entrance, exiting in front of Sandor as they returned out into the hot summer afternoon to descend the stairs. Once in the parking lot, Sansa stood beside her brand new white hatchback with light grey leather interior and opened the trunk.

“I knew you’d have a nice car,” he muttered as he peered into the window. “A pretty car for a pretty little bird. Sounds about right.”

The compliment made her blush again. “It was a graduation gift from my Uncle Brynden.”

“Brynden Blackfish, eh? Now there’s an interesting legal guardian.” Sandor walked beside her to lift out the remaining boxes from the trunk, sitting them onto the scalding pavement. “Didn’t your mother have a brother? I recall seeing a Tully lad with your father once.”

“My Uncle Edmure, yes. He’s…well, he’s…”

“A buggering idiot?”

Sansa couldn’t suppress her laugh. It even sounded flirtatious. “No, he’s just rather fond of the ladies. Uncle Brynden thought it not wise to expect him to suddenly be responsible for his nieces and nephews when he is often out and about with some woman.” Once he unpacked the car, Sansa reached down to pick up one of the boxes until a firm hand grabbed her wrist, stopping her. She looked up at the man in front of her and forgot about the debilitating sun and heat for a moment.

“I’ll get it, little bird,” he insisted. It was outrageous to her how she had only just met the man, yet she longed to kiss him. 

Left speechless and especially aroused, she nodded, sighing once he removed his hand. _And here I thought I was done with men after Harry. Now I can’t even look at my neighbor without wanting to act out._ Cursing herself and her sexual needs that she had ignored for far too long, Sansa went ahead and returned to her apartment, propping the door open for Sandor for when he’d carry in her remaining things. 

While he did that, Sansa began to unpack, starting with her bedroom first. After sliding the first storage bin into her room, she thought the gods were mocking her when she opened it and discovered her pink glitter vibrator, first thing. Sansa held it in her hand, wishing she could jump on her new bed and go to town. _As soon as my vexingly comely new neighbor leaves, I will._

Lost in her vulgar thoughts, Sansa was quickly brought back down to Westeros when Sandor walked into her room, asking her where he should place an unmarked box. In the blink of an eye, she threw her vibrator back into the bin and slammed the lid back on top of it. _He didn’t see it,_ Sansa tried to convince herself as she winced, unable to meet his gaze. _He didn’t see a thing._

“Tell me where you want it, girl.”

Nothing had ever sounded more seductive to her. Sansa looked up at him abruptly and asked in a breath, “What?”

Sandor was leaning against the doorframe with a box in his arms, and she realized that she had grossly misinterpreted his question. Still, there was a trace of a smirk on his lips. She wondered if he saw the vibrator, after all. 

“Oh, on the dining table,” she answered. It felt as hot in her bedroom as it did outside at that moment.

“That’s where you want it?” Sandor asked in a gravelly voice. “On the dining table?”

Sansa truly could not wait to pull out her vibrator once he left. “Yes.”

She watched him take a deep breath before he turned around to walk towards the dining room and then back out the entrance. Deciding she would wait to unpack her bedroom things later, Sansa walked towards the kitchen and emptied one of the boxes he had brought in. As she was setting out her cooking utensils, she suddenly had an idea on how she could thank him. _Well, an idea that does not include ripping off my clothes for him, as tempting as it is_. Once he brought in the last box, Sansa felt a wetness seep inside her panties watching him wipe the sweat from his brow with the back of his muscled hand, wondering if that’s how he’d look after fucking her.

 _Oh, gods. Quit it already!_ Sansa begged her salacious thoughts. 

“You managed to pack a lot in that little car of yours, little bird,” he said, the words sounding suggestive to her yet again.

Before she would end up intimate with a man she had only known for an hour, Sansa quickly changed the subject. “Do you like to eat….food?” The added specification only made it more obvious that her mind was in the gutter.

Sandor chuckled under his breath, leaning against the countertop beside her. “Aye, doesn’t every man?”

Sansa had to bite her tongue. “I used to cook for my siblings and uncle and I became quite good. I’d like to make you dinner sometime when you’re not busy, as a thank you.”

“I work in the evenings often, but I’m free tomorrow night,” Sandor informed her. He even sounded eager.

“What do you like to eat?” she asked him, meeting his intense gaze.

As devilish as one could possibly utter, he said, “I’ll eat whatever you put in front of me.”

“Oh,” she responded, her sex throbbing with arousal. Sansa would have looked away, but his eyes wouldn’t let her. “I’ll think of something then.”

“I’m sure you will,” he said, the unburnt side of his face smirking. 

“Do….you have a phone?” 

He furrowed his brow at her. “Do you think me to be so uncivilized that I do not own a phone?” It was the first response that did not sound sexual to her, allowing her to finally catch her breath.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” she said softly, tracing the curve of what remained of his lips with her eyes.

“Trust me, little bird, if you offended me, you’d know.” 

Sansa reached into her back pocket and pulled out her smartphone, handing it to him before she’d step onto her toes to kiss him. “All right, can you put your number in?” 

When he took her phone, his hand brushed against hers, sending an electric shock to course throughout her body, and then a stronger one when he said, “Sure, I can put it in.”

Sansa bit her lip when he wasn’t looking and waited for him to dial his number. A phone started to ring, the most generic ringtone of them all, and he pulled out his own cell phone from his pocket. Sansa squinted at it. “Is that even a smartphone?”

“A phone is a phone, little bird. You call, it rings.” Sandor handed her phone back to her and then flipped open his.

“But, can you text?”

“Text?” he scoffed. “What for? Seems to me that’s what fools do to avoid the same people they want to talk to. If you need me, you need only call.” Sandor held his phone up to her face. “Did I spell your name correctly?” 

Taking a step back to adjust her eyesight, Sansa discovered in the archaic cellphone that her contact name was ‘Little Bird’ and giggled, wondering if she’d ever been happier. She unlocked her phone and wished she had a clever nickname for him. _In time, I’ll come up with one,_ she thought.

“Thank you, again,” Sansa said while walking with him to the front door. “I’ll call you tomorrow before dinner.”

As they stood beside the entrance, almost close enough for her breasts to touch his abdomen, he spoke in a hushed, wicked tone, “I’ll be sure to bring my appetite.” 

Sansa locked the deadbolt on her door once he exited and ran into her room, tearing open the lid to the storage bin and pulling out her pink glitter vibrator. Collapsing onto her fresh, new bed, she kicked off her denim shorts and placed the vibrating toy over her swollen pink nub, climaxing to the thought of her new neighbor.


	2. Chapter 2

Sansa placed two seasoned steaks onto the heated cast iron skillet, pressing them down with metal tongs to produce a loud, satisfying sizzle. With her other hand, she lifted a glass of wine to her lips, sipping it painstakingly slow in an effort not to become drunk off sweet Arbor red before she would call her new neighbor to come over. While she did not want to become inebriated before dinner, she certainly did not want to be fully sober either; Sansa needed the liquid courage if she was to do what she had been imagining since yesterday afternoon. 

One day and seven orgasms later, Sansa had yet to subdue her vulgar curiosities, nor had she satiated the sexual hunger between her legs. The lewd fantasy of Sandor bending her over the dining table and gripping her hips with his strong hands while plowing into her from behind sent her over the edge each and every time. Her little pink vibrator and erotic imagination may have brought her pleasure, but it was fleeting, and afterwards, her arousal had only increased tenfold. 

Truly, Sansa did not know what to expect that night. _He must have known everything he was saying to me yesterday sounded provocative,_ she thought, growing hot just thinking about it. _Surely that must mean he is attracted to me, too. But, what will he think of me if I spread my legs wide open on the second day of knowing him?_

Aside from Harry Hardyng, Sansa had never been intimate with another man, if one could even call disloyal and dishonest Harry a man. Despite her monogamy that was not reciprocated by her ex, Sansa still thoroughly desired the pleasures to be found in bed but was hesitant to seek out another lover. That is, until she met Sandor. Her best friend, Jeyne Poole, who had started university the year prior in the North, had told her that many of the students have casual sex and that it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Even so, Sansa worried that Sandor would lose interest in her if she were to put out right away. She didn’t just want to have sex with him, although she _really_ wanted that. Sansa wanted to get to know him and, perhaps, maybe even date him someday. _I spent one hour with my neighbor and I’m already imagining him as my boyfriend,_ she thought. _I sound as crazy as my dead Aunt Lysa._

Flipping the steaks over once the bottoms appeared browned, Sansa decided that she would call Sandor to come over a bit early rather than allow her growing anticipation to drive her mad. Chugging the remaining Arbor red in her glass as a last ditch effort to settle her nerves, Sansa unlocked her phone, opened up her contacts, and scrolled down hesitantly until she reached the strong name. With her dainty index finger, Sansa tapped on the call icon and raised the phone to her ear. It rang and rang, and then rang some more, until it went to a generic voicemail. _Oh, gods. He forgot,_ was the first thought to cross her mind followed by her wondering if he just didn’t want to come at all. _No, he doesn’t seem like the type who’d shy away from telling the truth._ After deciding that she would call him again in a few minutes, she realized it would just be as easy for her to knock on his door. Sansa surveyed the steaks on the stovetop and saw that they’d need more time to cook, concluding that she would have enough time to walk over to Sandor’s apartment and let him know she was ready. _Ready to_ **_eat_ ** _,_ she thought when her vular fantasies returned. _The_ **_food_ ** _..._

Sansa stepped out into the still-warm evening weather wearing a red, flowy sundress that fell to her mid-thigh, the bust of it and thin shoulder straps detailed in lace. She considered changing into something more casual, a simple blouse and shorts perhaps, but could not help but wonder what her new neighbor might think of it. After she had showered earlier that afternoon, Sansa styled her hair in loose curls that fell down her back, spritzed on a light, floral perfume, put on a modest amount of bronze eyeshadow and black mascara to bring out her eyes, and finished with a touch of highlighter on her cheekbones. Sansa also shaved _everywhere,_ but that was just in case. 

Inside the breezeway, a hot breeze blew in, nearly lifting up the skirt of her dress. Once she stood outside of Sandor’s apartment, she could hear music coming from inside, loud music and intense-- nothing she was familiar with. _No wonder he didn’t hear me calling._ Sansa felt her thin, cheeky underwear becoming moist when the intrusive thought of him aggressively stroking inside of her to the music made itself present. Taking in a deep breath to shake the arousing image from her head, Sansa knocked on the door, and to her surprise, it inched open. _Does he know his door is not latched?_ A sniffing sound came from the slight opening and when she looked down, she saw a black snout slowly working open the door wider. Before Sansa could reach for the handle, she was greeted by a large, black dog who sniffed and licked her hands, almost lovingly. 

“Oh, gods,” Sansa whispered. “You need to get back in,” she told the black hound. 

The dog looked up at her as if he understood but proceeded to sit down in the breezeway, as if he was waiting for something. Sansa looked ahead into the opening of the doorway where the blaring music was pouring out and saw no sign of her comely neighbor. Before Sandor might notice, Sansa quickly grabbed the dog’s yellow collar to urge him back inside. The dog moved when she held onto him but stopped in the doorway once she let go, preventing her from being able to close the door. 

“Go on,” she encouraged him. When he only sat there, panting and looking like the happiest dog in the Known World, she swiftly took his collar again and walked him several steps into Sandor’s apartment, the door closing shut behind her. It was dim inside the living area as the blinds were nearly all closed and no light had been left on. Once his dog jumped onto the couch beside her to lay down, the music coming from the bedroom abruptly stopped. And then the door opened.

Sansa gasped and looked away from the black hound and towards the man in front of her. Freshly showered, his dark hair was black when wet, slowly dripping down his bare, heavily-muscled chest, glistening from the one dim light inside his room. Her eyes followed the trail of dark coarse hair on his torso to discover the gray boxers he wore, covering the part of him she had fantasized was inside of her during each of her seven orgasms. Sandor wasn’t even erect and she could see the long, thick outline of his manhood. The sight nearly brought her to her knees.

Seemingly unsurprised by her surprise entrance, he said, “If you were anyone else, he would have ripped your hand clean off.”

If Sandor had never spoken, she may have stared at his bulge in silence forever. “I...I tried calling you. Your door wasn’t closed.”

He stepped forward with a menacing swagger. Once he stood close enough for her to smell the fresh, earthy scent of the soap he had used on his skin, the muscles inside her sex clenched. “If you come into my apartment every time I don’t answer my phone, I’ll never answer the bloody thing.” 

Just when she decided to forsake all else and throw herself at him, the black hound hopped down from the couch and nuzzled its nose into her hand, signalling that he wanted to be pet. “What’s his name?” Sansa asked as she knelt down to rub the dog’s chest, realizing after the fact that Sandor’s conspicuous cock outline would now be staring right at her.

“Stranger,” he said ominously.

Sansa looked up at him, but her eyes met his manhood before they met his face. “Like of the Seven-Faced God?”

Though it was dark inside, she thought she saw him smirk. “That’s right, little bird.” 

All at once, Stranger ran towards the front door, leaving Sansa on her knees in front of Sandor. When the sexual tension became too much to bear, pressing her to pull down the gray boxers, his dog started barking and scratching at the door. A second later, smoke detectors were sounding off.

Sansa stood up and gasped, bolting out of his apartment with Stranger following in beside her.

“No, no, no!” Sansa shouted once she entered her apartment with the black hound. The steaks atop the stove were burning, producing a thick, dark cloud of smoke, but had yet to set aflame. As quick as she could possibly move, Sansa grabbed her oven mit from the countertop and removed the cast iron skillet from the heat, tossing it clamorously into the sink. Stranger nipped onto the skirt of her dress and tugged on it gently, prompting her to walk out of the smoke-filled kitchen. 

Somehow in that short span of time, Sandor had gotten dressed and ran into her apartment, fearful. _His scars,_ she thought. _He feared there might be fire._ “What in the seven bloody hells happened?” he boomed over the alarm, striding over to open the living room windows. 

Whether it was from the embarrassment or simply a late response to so much built up sexual tension, Sansa began to cry. Her hands rushed to cover her face, hoping Sandor would not hear her over the blaring smoke detectors. With her vision impeded, she startled when she was picked up into two large arms and carried outside of her apartment and into the breezeway, his dog following in behind. Sandor set her onto her feet, lifted up her chin, and wiped away her falling tears. There was a gentleness in those grey eyes when he stared at her. “I’m sorry for yelling at you, little bird.”

That’s not why she had been crying, at least she didn’t think it was, but the unrequired apology soothed her nonetheless. “I’m sorry,” she sniffled, “for ruining dinner.”

Sandor snorted with laughter and shook his head. “Don’t worry about that, girl. I’ll take you somewhere.”

She wasn’t expecting that. _A date? He is taking me on a date?_ “Truly? But, I was supposed to be thanking you.”

“Bugger that, you don’t need to thank me. I’d rather take you out,” he said with a developing sardonic smile. “Besides, we’re not like to survive the night with you cooking.”

Sansa giggled and hit his firm chest with a soft hand. “That’s rude.”

“How are the Riverlands faring these days? After years of you in the kitchen, I expect it to be scorched to the ground.”

When she lifted her hand to hit him again, harder this time, Sandor caught her wrist and lifted it onto his lips, kissing her pale skin so slowly Sansa thought she would have her eighth orgasm since moving in right there. “We’ll take my truck,” he muttered against her fingers. “Because if you drive like you cook, we’re like to starve.”

  
  
  


* * *

  
  


Just like him and the outline of his manhood, Sandor’s truck was large. Lifted, tinted and painted as dark as the jet night sky above them, he took her waist and sat her in the passenger seat as if she were mounting a horse. Her eyes lingered a little too long in the spacious backseat, sparking a slew of provocative thoughts. She quickly turned her head towards the front once Sandor opened the door on the driver’s side.

“See something you like back there?” 

Sansa winced. Just like with the vibrator incident, her hasty movement had been noted. “I’ve never been in a truck before,” said Sansa innocently.

Sandor looked over at her as he started the engine. He even made that look sexual. “Well then, I’ll have to make it a memorable ride for you.”

 _Oh, gods. Here he goes again._ Sansa crossed her legs when she felt her clit tingling. In an attempt to change the subject before she would straddle him in the driver’s seat, she asked, “What’s your family name? I realized last night that I never asked you.”

When he chuckled, she knew what was coming. “You were thinking about me last night?”

Sansa turned to stare out the window beside her, embarrassed, and wondered how bad the drop would hurt should she jump out. “I was on my phone, and when I saw your contact, I thought it looked odd not to have your last name on there,” she quickly lied. Truth was, Sansa had thought about what his last night might be sometime after one of her numerous orgasms, but that was not something she could ever reveal.

“Clegane,” he answered abruptly, as if it were a crime to speak it.

“Sandor Clegane.” Sansa meant to say it in her head, but for whatever reason the name begged to fall from her lips.

He stopped at a red light and turned to look her, the red hue creating an erotic ambience inside the truck. “Sounds a lot better on your tongue.”

The mention of tongues made her squeeze her thighs together tighter. “Where are we going to eat?” 

“Tell me what you’re craving, girl.”

 _I’m not going to survive this drive,_ Sansa thought as the sexual tension continued to swell. “What’s your favorite color?”

Sandor squinted at her before driving through the light as it turned green. “You ask a lot of questions, little bird.”

“I don’t care where we go. I just want to get to know you better.” _And get my mind off of rides and tongues and cravings._

“All right, then.” He sounded mischievous again. “Why don’t you take a guess.”

His truck was black, his shirt was black, as were his jeans, so she answered warily, “Black?”

Removing his right hand from the steering wheel, Sandor tenderly brushed the skirt of her sundress that rested on her thigh, intoxicating her. “Red.”

“Oh.”

Sandor kept his hand there when he said, “I told you mine. Go on and tell me yours.” 

“Guess,” Sansa said breathily, her eyes glued to the large hand on top of her thigh, wondering how it would feel if it shifted a few inches to the right.

When he took a wide turn down an intersecting street, Sansa looked over at him and saw a gleam in his eye. “That’s a tough one, little bird. But I’ll take a wild guess and say glittery pink.”

The sly reference to her vibrator made Sansa flush more than she had earlier underneath the summer sun. Before she could open the door and jump out to save herself from further embarrassment, Sandor pulled into a parking lot of what appeared to be a formal restaurant. Sansa looked down at her dress and then at the hand on her thigh. “I should have changed before we left.”

“Why? You look bloody beautiful,” Sandor said, reluctantly removing his hand from her leg to shut the engine off. “The fools who own this place are all afraid of me. If anyone says a buggering thing to you, I’ll kill them.” 

Sansa giggled, but she wasn’t quite sure if he was exaggerating. Quite abruptly, Sandor opened up his door and stepped out. Before Sansa could reach for the handle, he walked around the truck and opened the door for her, taking her hand in his to help her down. 

“Thank you,” Sansa said softly. When they started walking, she didn’t remove her hand from his. And neither did he.

Once inside the restaurant, Sansa was relieved to find that many of the others inside were dressed casually. Her little sister, Arya, would have laughed at her for caring in the first place. _Arya would have come here in sweatpants and thought nothing of it._ Despite having moved one day ago, she missed her sister.

The host standing near the entrance, an older man with a shock of white hair, openly sighed once he observed Sandor. “We’re a bit low on Arbor whiskey tonight, _sir_.”

“I’m not here to drink, you clever shit. And I’ll not sit at the bar either. Now go on and find a corner booth for us.”

The man glanced over at Sansa, perplexed to see her beside him. “Follow me.”

As they walked across the restaurant, Sandor wrapped his arm around her waist almost protectively until they sat down. 

“Bring Arbor red,” he told the host.

The older man frowned. “You said--”

“Not for me, you dumb cunt,” Sandor spat. “For my date.” 

Sansa felt her heart still hearing him call her that. The host looked at her remorsefully before nodding and walking away. When she held the menu up to her face to hide her growing, flirtatious smile, she realized only then they were at a steakhouse, the irony making her giggle.

“Something funny, little bird?” she heard Sandor ask.

Lowering the menu back onto the table, she said, “I was making steak for you tonight.”

“Is that what was charred inside your pan? I never would have guessed,” he teased.

Sansa gave him a shy smile and leaned forward with her breasts resting atop the edge of the table, giving him a better view of her cleavage. “So, Arbor red?”

His brazen stare on her breasts made her nipples hard. “Aye,” Sandor said, clearing his throat. “Did you think I couldn’t smell it coming off those pretty lips of yours? Explains why you burned dinner.”

Just before Sansa could kick him underneath the table, her phone jingled with a notification and she quickly took it out of her purse. “I’m sorry, I thought I silenced it.” 

“What did I say about the courtesies, girl? Don’t let me stop you from taking care of whatever it is.”

She unlocked her phone and rolled her eyes. “It’s nothing. I was tagged in a post.”

“Tagged in a post?” he asked, quizzical.

“On Glass Candle,” Sansa explained.

That clearly meant nothing to him. “What the buggering hell is Glass Candle?”

Sansa didn’t just giggle, she laughed playfully. “It’s an app. You can make a profile, add friends, post pictures...communicate with whoever no matter how far away.” When he still looked unsure, Sansa tapped on her profile and handed the phone to him. “Here, this is mine.”

As he was scrolling through her profile, he said, “You’re just as beautiful in pictures as you are in person, girl.” Sansa was glad he was too busy looking at her phone to notice her blushing red. A wicked grin played on his lips before he held up the phone to her. “This looks like it was a fun day.”

The picture on the screen was when Jeyne had taken a photo of Sansa in a bikini standing atop one of the sailboats in White Harbor. Sansa was saved from having to speak when a young waiter came by with a bottle of Arbor red, asking quite nervously if they were ready to order. Having little appetite due to her nerves that never settled, Sansa ordered a small four ounce steak to which Sandor snorted and said, “You even eat like a little bird.” He ordered a twenty ounce, the same size Sansa would have cooked for him had she not been too sidetracked by the bulge in his boxers.

After ordering, Sandor resumed scrolling through her Glass Candle profile until he paused suddenly, scowling at the screen. “I assume none of your brothers are blonde.”

Wide-eyed, Sansa felt nauseous once he turned the phone, displaying an old picture of her and Harry smiling, fishing near the Trident. “Oh, that’s my ex,” she said with disgust. “I thought I had deleted all of our pictures.”

“Bad breakup, eh?” 

“He cheated on me...a lot.” 

“He cheated on _you?”_ Sandor asked, unbelieving. He took another glance at the picture, glowering at Harry as if he were there. “He looks like a proper cunt.”

Sansa tittered, almost spitting out the wine she just sipped. “It’s my fault, really. I kept taking him back because he was my…” she trailed off, glancing at the Arbor red in her glass that was making her too loose with the conversation.

“Your first?”

She gently nodded with her eyes closed, hoping that she could, for once, stop putting herself into embarrassing situations. 

“Fuck him,” he rasped. “It’s not your fault that he’s a stupid little twat.” Sandor handed the phone back to her but held it firmly in his hand when she tried to take it, signalling for her to look at his stern face, their eyes locking instantaneously. “You deserve a man, little bird.”

Sansa didn’t even notice that the young waiter returned with their food after becoming mesmerized by Sandor’s compelling gaze. Eating seemed nearly impossible with the flood of emotions she felt in that moment. There was something deeper than lust just then, and far more terrifying. Sandor seemed to notice her anxiousness and kept the conversation light as they ate, asking what classes she’d be taking that semester, what her siblings were like, and what she liked to do for fun outside of posing on sailboats in White Harbor. Her new neighbor made her laugh a lot, and as the night went on, she felt more serene. In fact, Sansa had become so serene, she had somehow forgotten about the weight of the sexual tension. That is, until they left the restaurant and sat inside his truck where he promptly asked her, “So, did you like that meat, girl?” 

_This is a game to him now,_ she thought. _And he’s enjoying it. Perhaps I should, too._ A little more courageous from the wine and lengthy conversation, Sansa decided to play the game of words with him. “Yes, but I do wish it was juicier in my mouth.”

Sandor accidentally dropped the keys underneath his seat, clearly taken by surprise with her response. “Is that so?” he asked.

“Let me get those for you,” Sansa offered, tucking her legs underneath her on the seat as she reached over his lap, grabbing the keys from the floor with her ass poking out. While her head rested mere inches away from his cock, Sansa heard him exhale sharply. Stalling with the keys to maintain the position for a moment longer, Sansa looked up at him and discovered that he was staring at her ass and then at the tinted window behind her that reflected the cheeky panties she wore underneath her dress. Sitting back into her chair slowly, she dropped the keys onto his swollen lap and innocently said, “Here you go.” Sandor gave her a look so fiendish she half-expected him to toss her into the back seat and have his way with her, but was disappointed when he started the engine instead.

The ride back to their apartment complex was unusually quiet. Sansa looked over at him several times during the ride and saw that he appeared contemplative. Despite the silence, the sexual tension continued to balloon. At one point it became so intense that Sansa considered leaning over again to place her face into his lap and suck his cock while he drove. She likely would have, too, had the drive not been short. 

Although the two remained quiet, he took the initiation to hold her hand again as they walked up the stairs to their apartments. Sansa sighed when she had to let go of him in order to take out the keys from her purse. But before she would unlock her door, ultimately ending the evening that had started out as a nightmare and had become the best one of her life, Sansa looked once more into his grey eyes. “Thank--”

Preventing her from offering yet another courtesy, Sandor grabbed the back of her neck and leaned down to kiss her. The sensation was exhilarating, shocking her from where his lips met hers, down to her fluttering heart, all the way until it reached the spot between her legs, pleading her to invite him in. _Who cares what he thinks of me,_ Sansa thought. _I’ll not wait._ However, before Sansa could whimper against his mouth and ask him to bend her over the dining table, he pulled away. In a single breath, he said, “Goodnight, little bird.”

Sansa was close to feeling offended that he had not made any attempt to come inside her apartment considering the incessant sexual innuendos he had made. _And considering that perfect kiss he just gave me._

Suppressing a deep sigh, she begrudgingly opened the door to her apartment, only to discover the lingering smell of smoke still inside. She gagged and quickly closed the door shut, taking a pace back inside the breezeway.

“You all right, girl?” Sandor asked while opening his door. Stranger darted out to greet his owner before running over to smother her with affection just as eagerly. 

As she petted Stranger’s soft, black fur, Sansa said, “My apartment smells like smoke.”

Sandor Clegane held the door to his apartment wide open, gesturing for her to go inside. “Mine doesn’t.”


	3. Chapter 3

Sandor Clegane’s dining table was calling out to her, begging for her to press her breasts down onto the surface and bend over for him just as she had done inside his truck.  _ I did it then….why can’t I do it now? _ Something about being on the cusp of it truly happening, being intimate with a man who was so vastly different from the only one she had ever known, put her in a state of agitation. Cursing herself as she placed her purse onto the dining table instead of her breasts, Sansa sauntered around his apartment while he was gone taking Stranger for a walk.  _ I should have gone with him,  _ she thought, angry with herself.  _ Then I wouldn’t be alone becoming anxious all over again. _

Upon flipping the switch for the light inside the living area, she was able to survey his apartment without having the tantalizing distraction of his manhood in front of her face. Sansa was surprised to find how clean it was and wondered if he might’ve intended on her coming over that night after all.  _ Then why would he have told me goodnight? Maybe he’s only clean and it has nothing to do with me at all.  _ The thought agitated her more.

Quickly before Sandor would return, Sansa scurried inside his bedroom and turned on the light, noticing that it was just as clean as the rest of his apartment. Aside from the furniture included with the apartment, there had not been a single addition of decor or furnishing alike. Her eyes eagerly surveyed the bed, discovering that it was a king size whereas hers was a queen size, the bedding on it as black as his clothing, as black as his truck.  _ As black as his hair had been when it was wet from the shower, the water dripping down his chest, his muscles…  _

Sansa shook the racy thought from her head and walked around his bedroom hesitantly, worried that at any moment he would walk right in and catch her staring at his bedsheets. Even so, curiosity became her, pushing her to walk towards the nightstand.  _ Don’t do it,  _ she told herself when tempted to open up the drawer.  _ Don’t be as nosy as Arya was all those years growing up.  _ It didn’t matter what she told herself-- curiosity and temptation won. 

Swiftly pulling the silver drawer handle, Sansa’s mouth dropped open when she discovered what was inside: a Valyrian handgun and a box of Khalasar condoms, extra large. Sansa shut the drawer immediately and backed away from it unconsciously, unsure of whether she was more surprised to learn that he owned a firearm or that he was well prepared.  _ And well endowed,  _ she thought.

When she backed up one step too far, Sansa bumped into the television stand and heard a familiar sound. Sansa gasped when she looked down and saw that she had accidentally turned on his Cyvasse, the most popular gaming console in Westeros. Kneeling down, Sansa looked for how to turn it off but couldn’t find the power button anywhere.  _ Oh, gods. He’ll know I came in here.  _ She used to watch her brothers, Bran and Rickon, play on their Cyvasse often, but never had she played with it herself. Time ran up to find how to shut it off when his front door opened and Stranger ran inside to lick her on the cheek. 

Sansa couldn’t bring herself to look over at the man whose footsteps approached her heavy and slow. And when they stopped, so did her breath. “Does the little bird want to play?”

Pulling herself up with the assistance of the television stand, Sansa turned to discover Sandor Clegane with his arms crossed against his chest, leaning against the doorframe to his bedroom. No longer contemplative as he had been inside his truck, her eyes fell from the sinister half-smirk on his face to the place he’d use his extra large condoms and thoughtlessly, she swallowed. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to turn it on. I backed into it,” she said abashedly. 

She immediately realized her blunder when Sandor shifted his gaze towards the nightstand directly across from her to learn what she had backed away from. Without a word, he lifted his hand and shut off the light, the green light from the Cyvasse softly illuminating the room. 

Sansa could feel a throbbing inside her chest, rapid and anxious, and another between her thighs, aching and longing, watching his massive silhouette advancing towards her in near blackness. 

“Did something frighten you?” 

The tone of his voice was hollow, and Sansa couldn’t read his face in the darkness to tell whether he was vexed or humored. The moment was haunting and elating all at once.

“No.”

The jade light from the Cyvasse felt hot against her skin, hotter than even the sun had earlier that day, and when Sandor stood only an inch away from her, it became hotter still. Beside the green hue, she watched his hand lift up and thought he would pull her in for another kiss, enthusiastically awaiting his embrace. Instead, he turned on the television and grabbed the Cyvasse controller, placing it in her hand. The bright white light from the screen forced her to shut her eyes, slowly opening them until they adjusted. Looking up, Sansa observed his grey eyes gleaming.

“How does that feel in your palm, girl?”

Sansa’s hand tightened around the Cyvasse controller. “It’s...too big for my hand,” she managed to quip, albeit breathless.

He didn’t laugh like she thought he might, he made another sound-- a low growl. “I’ll show you how to handle it.”

“What if I’m not any good?” Sansa asked, blinking her vivid blue eyes up at him innocently.

Sandor’s jaw clenched tightly. “I bloody doubt that, little bird.” He suddenly looked away from her and walked over to sit on the edge of the bed. “Come here.”

Sansa stepped towards the large man atop the large bed and sat on the mattress just beside him. Quite aggressively, he grabbed her hips and lifted her to sit on his lap. Her red summer dress was hiked up in the back, and underneath it she could feel his extra large arousal on her ass. 

“How do you not own a smartphone but own a Cyvasse?” asked Sansa in an effort to get her mind off of the cock pressing against her ivory cheeks.

“Because I prefer killing over texting,” he muttered malevolently into her ear, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Press the middle button.”

Fighting the urge to buck her hips on top of his lap, Sansa looked down at the Cyvasse controller and pressed the large circular button in the center until it glowed green. On the television screen, the Cyvasse home screen appeared with a library of different games. “Which one should I pick?”

“Storm of Swords,” he answered, his breath warm against her ear. 

Sansa clenched her legs together before selecting the game, pulling up an image of two dueling knights in full plate armour as it loaded. “Oh, this looks  _ so _ hard,” said Sansa coyly.

His cock stirred underneath her. “It is,” Sandor said, almost miserably. “Go to the right where it says join a match.”

“Shouldn’t I warm up? Play with-- I mean,  _ by _ myself for a little while?” 

Sandor placed his hands onto hers, guiding her thumbs with his on the controller to start a match. “I like to get right into it, little bird.” Sansa was sure her damp panties would leave a wet stain on his jeans once she sat up. After an opponent had been found, the game pulled up another screen, prompting her to choose a weapon. “Go on, girl-- pick.”

She stared at the aramanet on the screen with as much confusion as when Sandor learned of Glass Candle. “I don’t know what to choose.”

“You might like that longsword.”

“Oh, all right. I hope I can handle it.” Sansa had to bite her lower lip to keep from laughing after uttering the words. Once she selected the weapon and a standard shield, the game pulled up a summary of the two players before the match would begin. Sandor’s character was clad in dark armor with a snarling dog’s head helm. “TheHound? That’s your username?”

“Aye, little bird,” he confirmed darkly, scooting her up an inch so that his confined manhood rested against her wet folds. “Do you like it?”

“I love it,” she said with a whimper, closing her eyes.

“I’ve played this cunt before. KnightofFlowers,” he scoffed. “What kind of buggering name is that?” 

Sansa looked at the screen and saw the opponents customized silver armor covered in golden roses. “Is he good?” 

“Fair-- I beat him last time.”

As the duel started, Sansa awoke from the sexual trance she was in and looked down at the controller anxiously. “I don’t want to make you look bad.”

Sandor placed a strong kiss on her shoulder. “Not bloody possible,” he said gruffly. “The blue button is to block, the red is to attack, the right stick is to look around, and the left stick is for moving. Those are the basics, girl.”

The knight of flowers strode forward and raised his sword, crashing down on the Hound before she could press the button to defend herself. “Wait, I wasn’t ready!” she complained, moving the left stick over to create distance.

Sandor was chuckling beside her ear. “Swing at him.”

“I’m scared,” Sansa said, looking up at the top left corner of the screen. “Why is that bar up there flashing red?”

“That’s your health, girl. One more blow from this Flower Knight and you’re like to die.”

“Oh, gods,” she breathed, far more invested in the game than she thought she would be. “Tell me what to do.”

“You want me to tell you what to do?” Sandor’s cock stirred underneath her again.

Sansa moved the left stick to run away from the opponent in circles, looking absolutely foolish while her eyes closed at the sensation underneath her. “Yes, please. I want you to tell me.”

Hoping he’d tell her to bend over the dining table, Sansa sighed when he said, “Stop running away and swing your bloody steel.”

When her eyes opened, Sansa saw the KnightofFlowers player raise his sword and proceeded to rapidly press the blue button again and again to block the attack. When her sword stopped him from hitting her, she squealed with delight. “I did it!”

“That’s the idea, little bird,” he chuckled again. “He’s pulling back-- attack him.”

Sansa moved the stick over to the right and pressed the red button, prompting the Hound to attack the flower knight. She almost cried out with excitement again until her opponent blocked the attack and broke away in one fluid motion, sending the point of his steel through the opening of the Hound’s helm. “Oh,” she gasped as the screen turned red. “I’m sorry, he’ll think you’re awful now.”

“Let him. I’ll fight that flower boy again,” he said, placing a kiss on her neck. “You’ll win the next fight.”

“Another?” she all but moaned.

“Why not? Unless you have something else in mind for us to do.”

_ I’d rather you pull out those extra large condoms of yours and bend me over the dining table and tell me what to do,  _ Sansa thought. “All right, I’ll try again.”

When the next opponent’s username popped up on the screen, Sandor boomed with laughter. “Look at this dumb cunt and his golden armor.”

She squinted to read the opponent's name: I_AM_THE_KING_69. “Ew. Do you know who that is?”

“Aye, that spoiled little shit in the Red Keep. Better not have me lose to him, little bird.” His arms wrapped tighter around her waist, the strength in those muscles making Sansa lose all interest in playing the game.

Nevertheless, the match began, but her opponent didn’t move. “Why is he just standing there?” asked Sansa.

“Blonde cunt likely walked away from his controller to take a piss, or to go suck on his mother’s tit. Go kill him, girl,” Sandor urged her.

“That’s not very fair.”

Sandor laughed a snarling laugh; he never sounded more dangerous. And she never wanted him to fuck her so bad. “How not? He started a game, and he left. That’s his own bloody fault.”

Thinking of Joffrey Baratheon, the son of the woman Sansa secretly believed to have been behind the murders of her father, mother, and eldest brother, made her irate. Sansa did just as she was bidded and moved forward towards her opponent, beating the red button with her thumb to slice the longsword every which way at Joffrey’s lion-crested helm. Even though it was only an animation, it was bloody and violent. Sansa found a strange sort of satisfaction watching her opponent fall dead to the ground. And then another when Sandor’s hands fell onto her thighs, squeezing them firmly.

“That’s my little bird,” he growled.

She didn’t throw the Cyvasse controller like she intended, but she did drop it. And afterwards, Sansa stood up just long enough to turn herself around, straddling Sandor Clegane and wrapping her arms around his neck as she kissed him hot and heavily. While the single kiss he had given her inside the breezeway had been exhilarating, making out with him was a completely different animal. Sansa was certain that she could orgasm from the sensation alone. Never had she been so aroused, so blatantly horny in her life. Even as her tongue was touching his, she desired for him to be closer. Sansa moaned into Sandor’s mouth when he dug his hands inside of her panties, squeezing her bare ass fervently.

A throaty sound escaped his scarred lips. And when he spoke, the tone of his voice revealed equal parts lust as it did despair. “You’ll be the bloody death of me.”

Before the surge of confidence would flee, Sansa broke the ravenous kiss and purred, “On the dining table.”


	4. Chapter 4

The thin lace straps of her red summer dress fell from her shoulders, eased down by Sandor Clegane’s hands gentler than she would have expected. Once they had fallen, the dress followed suit, unveiling her round, perky breasts as it slid down past the curve of her hips. A silence had fallen between them once she stood up, the only sounds inside his bedroom being the Cyvasse game and their breathing, hers becoming more erratic with each passing second whereas his was even and focused, his demeanor strangely contemplative once again. 

Sansa ended her silence with soft, submissive whimpers upon Sandor grabbing her breasts, fondling them with his hands, and then again with his mouth. “Bend me over the table,” she moaned, shameless. But he only sat there, lowering her panties until they fell onto the floor. Sansa was disappointed with his continued silence once she was fully nude in front of him, wishing that he would talk to her vulgarly as he had every moment previously. He cupped her smooth, bare sex with one hand and, presumably not on purpose, broke his silence with a long, husky growl once he felt how wet she was. 

Sansa’s heart stilled when he stood up, expecting him to walk towards the nightstand, take out a condom, and lead her over to the dining table. Instead, she watched, bemused, as Sandor walked towards the dresser and took out a plain white undershirt. 

“What are you doing?” asked Sansa, wrapping her arms around her waist once she felt the chilly air from the vent just above her. 

He remained silent as he returned to her and placed the shirt over her head, pulling apart her arms to guide them through. The shirt was as long on her as her dress, longer even, and unflatteringly loose. Sandor leaned down afterwards and placed a single kiss on her lips. “Goodnight, little bird,” he whispered before exiting the bedroom with Stranger and closing the door. 

Sansa stood there in disbelief.  _ Did he just...why did he....what happened?  _ Irritated as much as she was aroused, she turned off the television to silence the vexing sound of the Storm of Swords game, leaving her inside his dark bedroom with nothing other than the green glow of the Cyvasse accompanying her.  _ I’d turn it off, too,  _ she thought, frustrated,  _ if only I knew how.  _

Another moment passed with her standing there, contemplating, growing more upset the longer she thought it. She didn’t want to pressure him, knowing that he certainly did not owe her sex, but she also did not think it was right of him to leave her without an explanation. Gathering whatever was left of her shattered confidence, Sansa treaded lightly across the nearly pitch-black room and opened the door slowly. 

A trickle of moonlight seeped through an opening in the blinds, providing just enough visibility for her to survey the living area. Stranger’s head perked up immediately but laid back down once he saw that the noise only came from her, sleeping snugly against the front door. On the couch, Sandor Clegane laid on his back, his hands clasped together on his stomach, and a pillow over his face as if he hoped to suffocate himself. 

“Um, did I do something wrong?” she asked, stepping out the doorway.

“No.” His voice was barely audible.

“Is this...a game?”

“Not a game.”

“Then...what do you call everything you’ve been saying to me? Kissing me? Touching me?”

“Enjoying what little I can.”

Sansa tilted her head to the side, entirely puzzled. “I don’t understand. I want you,” she confessed. “I thought you--”

As if he were triggered by the words, Sandor ripped the pillow away from his face and sat up. “You think I don’t want you?” He didn’t shout the question, but the venom in his voice startled her all the same. “I haven’t stopped fantasizing about you since I saw you on the stairs. I wanted to make you come all over that little pink toy of yours when I saw you with it. I was one bloody breath away from fucking you raw inside my truck. So don’t stand there and act as if you’re the only one tormented by whatever  _ this _ is!”

That time he  _ did _ shout, but it didn’t frighten her. Rather, it made her smitten to know that she was not alone in having provocative thoughts. “If that’s what you want, come here.” When he shook his drooping head, Sansa found herself fuming. “And why not?”

“I’ve only just met you yesterday, girl. What would I be to you if I fucked you now? You’d never take me seriously.”

Sansa could hardly believe what she was hearing.  _ And here I was worried he’d think of  _ **_me_ ** _ as the slut.  _ “No, that’s not true,” she said softly.

He sighed heavily, visibly miserable. “I can’t have you only once.”

“Only once?”

“Aye, you heard me,” Sandor said, meeting her gaze. “Take a good look around you, girl. Open up your bloody Glass Candle app and see how this world works. These days, people meet and fuck and afterwards they’re strangers. It’s what I’ve done all these years, and not once has a woman meant spit to me. But you…” he trailed off, chuckling in exasperation. “How is it that I feel like I’ve known you half my life? I know that if I fuck you, I’d never be able to let you go. It’s bloody terrible, little bird.”

If he was trying to persuade her out of wanting him, he was failing miserably. His confessions only drove her madder with desire. “Why would that be terrible?”

He arose from the couch and took three heavy steps to stand in front of her, clutching her jaw with his hand while staring at her, dangerous. “Because you wouldn’t want to stay.”

“I would,” she promised.

“No, you wouldn’t.”

“Why?”

“Because you don’t know who I am.”

“Sandor Clegane,” whispered Sansa, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

He was unusually still for a moment, like a statue or one of those gargoyles that could be seen atop an ancient castle. Something within her told her to run, the remainder of her innocence perhaps, while something else begged her to stay. Sansa listened to the latter. 

Moving so fast that he had become a blur, Sandor released her jaw and strode into his room. Sansa listened to the drawer of the nightstand being ripped open and that last shred of innocence within her feared it would be the Valyrian handgun he’d grab. Just as quickly, he returned, weaponless, and seized her upper arm with one hand to drag her over towards the dining table. Sandor spun her around and grasped the back of her neck firmly, bending her over. “You want me to fuck you from behind, eh? That’s what you said?” Her auburn hair was tousled, covering her face after he had yanked her around, leaving her blind but not deaf. Sansa could hear him removing his jeans followed by the sound of him tearing open a condom and grunting while he placed it over his length. “Say it since you’re so bloody bold.”

“Yes,” she whimpered into the table.

He pulled up the white shirt of his she wore until it rested on her shoulder blades and spanked her, teasing her entrance with the tip of his cock. “I’ll hear you say it.”

“I want you to fuck me,” Sansa breathed, “just like this.”

Just as soon as she gripped onto the table, anticipating his size, Sandor leaned forward to place his mouth beside her ear and, in the process, buried his cock inside of her. He cursed and groaned, she inhaled and moaned, the new neighbors mutually intoxicated with their bodies joining for the first time. “You’re mine, girl,” he declared hotly. Sansa moaned wantonly after the words, arching her back to push her ass against him. His teeth grazed her ear before he stood tall behind her, readjusting his grip on her hips while slowly pulling his length out of her sopping wet entrance. “Gods, look at this pussy,” he growled. “I’ll fuck you all bloody night.”

Sansa lifted herself onto her elbows, becoming drunk off the variation of his thrusts, some shallow and some deep, and relished the sensations that followed each and every one: her ass jiggling, her breasts bouncing, her sex clenching around his girth-- far larger than she was used to. “Oh, gods, it feels so good,” she cried out. 

“Come on my cock, girl,” he panted, maintaining his fierce pace.

Sansa screamed in pleasure, surprised how the same act could feel so different with another man, especially a man like Sandor Clegane. She had never liked it when Harry was rough with her. But with Sandor, she did.  _ I’m different with him,  _ she realized.  _ Stronger...bolder.  _ “Harder,” she begged, “Fuck me harder.”

He grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled back, arching her back just enough for him to lean down and kiss her neck without breaking his rhythm. “Seven fucking hells, you’re so tight,” Sandor groaned.

With the amount of sexual tension that had been accumulated, there was no way she was going to last. Rather than force herself not to come, Sansa surrendered to the novel pleasures and matched his thrusts, throwing her ass back each time he entered her to make every impact all the more intense. Not even the sound of her ass slapping against his skin was loud enough to cover the gushing wet sound her sex made as he drove into her. But what sent her over the edge above all else was him, listening to his grunts and groans and curses that escaped him with every breath. Sansa would wait not a minute longer. With two more of his deep strokes, she cried out, “Oh, Sandor, I’m coming!” 

The orgasm she achieved was deeper and longer than any she had ever experienced, and just when she thought it was over, another surge of pleasure presented itself, causing her to gasp and writhe underneath Sandor on the table. He fucked her slower upon her peak and removed his grip from her hair to rub his hand up and down her ass, the sensation almost too much for her to handle when accompanied by her immense peak. 

Once her cries and screams lessened, Sandor removed his cock and flipped her over onto her back, pulling up the shirt to reveal her breasts and immediately inserting himself back inside. Sansa’s nipples grew hard as he started plowing into her violently, and he couldn’t seem to resist leaning down to suck on one, stroking all the while. “I want to look at you when I come,” he breathed desperately against her breast, raising his head above hers so that his long, dark hair fell in her face. “Open your eyes,” he all but begged. 

Sansa did, and as she stared into those grey eyes that were full of lust and hunger, she discovered that there was something else in them, too. Without forethought, Sansa lifted one hand to caress the scarred side of his face, staring at him with the same fascination she had the first time she looked upon him. He lost himself at the touch, dropping his head into the crease of her neck as he spent himself inside the condom, never pulling out of her. 

They remained there for a moment, him supporting his weight atop the table and catching his breath beside her neck, and her softly caressing his hair while staring up at the dark ceiling in a sort of blissful daze. 

And in that daze and darkness, Sansa thought of many things: her classes beginning the day after next, remembering that Arya would be calling her in the morning, and wondering if Sandor Clegane loved her, too.


	5. Chapter 5

Sansa awoke to the sensations of her inner thigh being kissed, scars brushing against the other, and shortly after, her clit being licked and sucked gently. 

“Oh, gods,” she whimpered groggily. Sansa felt the soreness in her body once she moved, prominent aches radiating inside her neck, legs, and back, but more than anything, she felt as if her sex was utterly destroyed. _How many times did we have sex last night?_ she wondered as Sandor slipped a finger inside her tender entrance while flicking his tongue over her clit. _Three? Four? Five?_ “Sandor, I can’t,” Sansa moaned, but rather than push him away, she found herself combing her fingers through his hair and pulling his face closer. The pleasure of him fucking her with his finger while gnawing on the inside of her thighs outweighed the fresh pains elsewhere and before long, she said, “I want you inside me.”

A sound escaped him, something between a sinister laugh and painful groan, the vibration of it against her thigh making her whimper. “My cock is like to fall off. This is just for you, girl,” he mumbled. 

His lips softly brushed up and down her labia, teasing her by licking all around her clit but refusing to touch it. The avoidance was torture and her high-pitched moans became angry, little grunts as she shifted her hips around to have his tongue meet the firm, little nub that was begging to be touched. He pulled out his finger and wrapped both arms around her thighs, preventing her from moving her hips as he continued to lick only the surrounding areas of where she was dying to be touched. Sansa tried to push his head down to meet her clit, but even his neck muscles were stronger than she was. “Sandor, stop it,” she complained.

The vibrations of his laugh were felt once again. “You want me to stop?”

“No!” Sansa quickly said. “I only want you to stop teasing me.”

“Let me hear you say it then,” he muttered, his humor replaced by something much darker.

The sensation of his warm breath on her clit forced a moan out of her. “Say what?”

“That you want to come.”

“Oh, yes I want to.”

“Say it,” Sandor growled.

“I want to come,” she pleaded desperately. 

“What was that, little bird?”

“Sandor, I want to come!”

Just as one of his hands released her thigh and reached up to fondle her breast, his tongue lapped over her throbbing clit at last, instantly sparking her climax. When she arched her back the soreness returned, and interspersed between her cries of pleasure were cries of pain, not that they would sound any less sweet to him. Upon her coming down from her peak, Sandor traveled his mouth over her sex, across her belly, and planted kisses atop her breasts, raising goosebumps on her skin. The sweetness of her fluids became present on her lips. “Gods, you’re so fucking sexy,” he growled against her mouth. Sandor spanked the side of her ass possessively before standing up from the bed, walking into the bathroom fully nude, just like her. As she admired his tall, muscular build, she squinted when she saw something on his shoulder, a scar of some sort, but different than those on the left side of his face.

“What happened to your shoulder?” she asked, still breathless from her fourth or fifth or sixth orgasm. 

Sandor disappeared inside the bathroom and cut on the shower. “A bullet.”

“A bullet?” she asked, wincing from the slew of aches as she sat up abruptly on his disheveled bed. “From a gun?”

“What else, girl?” he said over the spraying water. 

“You’ve been shot?” 

“Aye.”

Sansa watched the steam exit the bathroom door and thought about joining him, but knew that if she did she would likely die if he made her come again. “What happened?”

“Work,” Sandor answered tersely.

“When you worked in the Red Keep?”

“After.”

Whatever had happened, Sansa could tell that he did not want to speak of it and decided that it was best for her to let it go. _He’ll tell me when he is ready,_ she hoped. Off in the distance, she heard faint vibrations and realized it must have been her phone inside her purse. It was then that Sansa noticed how curiously bright it was inside his room, the sun bleeding through the blinds not low in the east as it did in the mornings but positioned much higher. 

Sansa gasped. “Wait, what time is it?” She looked around the room for a clock but found none.

“Almost noon, little bird.”

“Shit,” she cursed under her breath, jumping from the bed naked, sore, and bruised to grab her purse that had fallen onto the floor after Sandor took her on the dining table. When Sansa took out her phone, she cursed again much louder.

“You all right, girl?” Sandor called out.

Scrolling through the plethora of notifications on her home screen, Sansa saw that she had twenty-six missed calls from Arya, two from Jeyne, and even one from Harry -- the last made her grimace. “My sister...I was supposed to talk to her this morning.” As she read through her texts, she lost count of how many ‘ _Where the fuck are you?_ ’ messages there were from her little sister. 

“I heard something vibrating when I took Stranger out this morning. I was hoping you had brought your glittery toy with you so I could fuck you with it.” 

Despite having had wild sex with him all night, Sansa blushed. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

Sandor shut off the shower and walked out from the bathroom with a white towel, drying his now-black hair, naked and soaking wet. When the walls inside her sex clenched, Sansa winced again. “I thought you’d want to rest. Besides, you looked bloody beautiful sleeping in my bed.”

She looked away from the tantalizing way the water dripped off his massive, hanging manhood and glanced down at her phone. As soon as she did, an incoming call came from her sister. Sliding her thumb across the bottom, Sansa held the phone up to her ear and said, “Hello?”

“Where the fuck have you been?” Arya hissed on the other end. “It’s noon!”

“Obviously, I slept in,” Sansa said curtly, walking back towards Sandor’s bed to sit down.

“You _never_ sleep in,” her sister said suspiciously. “Why is your voice hoarse?”

 _Because I was screaming and orgasming half the night._ While Sandor was getting dressed, Sansa sat against the headboard and admired the way his muscles rippled underneath his skin when he lifted the shirt over his head. “I stayed up late last night.”

“Doing what?”

“Hanging out with my neighbor,” Sansa answered coyly, smiling over at Sandor.

“Your _neighbor_?” Arya said queerly. “Is this neighbor a guy or a girl?”

“Does that really matter?”

Arya groaned with disgust. “That means it’s a guy.”

Once Sandor caught her smiling at him, he walked towards the bed and knelt down on the floor beside her, placing one of her nipples into his mouth. “Gods,” Sansa whimpered.

“Gods, what?” Arya asked rudely.

“You didn’t worry Uncle Brynden did you?” she asked, suppressing the urge to moan as Sandor sucked on her breast.

“No, but I was about to. Why are you breathing so hard?”

“I’m not,” Sansa denied, breathing hard.

“Seven hells!” Arya shouted. “Are you fucking your new neighbor while on the phone with me?” 

“No! I wouldn’t do that!”

“Put him on the phone,” Arya demanded.

“Excuse me?” Sansa raised her voice. “You’re my little sister, not our mother.”

Arya huffed. “It’s not your neighbor at all, is it? Are you back with Harry?”

“Ew, no. I’d never get back with him.”

“You’ve always said that and then I’d hear you two fucking in your bedroom the next day.”

When Sandor placed his hand on her sex, running one finger through her wet folds, Sansa yielded and was ready to die by orgasm. “I’ll call you later, Arya.”

“Let me speak to him!” Arya snapped. “Prove that he’s not Harry or else I’ll tell Uncle Brynden!”

“You’re acting like a brat!”

Sandor must have heard her sister’s shouting, for before Sansa could oppose, he took the phone from her and stood up from the floor. “Who the buggering hell do you think you are speaking to your sister that way?”

Awestruck, she watched as Sandor paced around the room while speaking to her sister. Although Sansa couldn’t hear Arya’s response, she knew it wouldn’t be anything good. 

“How old am I? How old are _you?_ You sound like a bloody nine year old yet you’ve got a dirtier mouth than half the bastards in the capital.”

“Sandor,” Sansa gasped before giggling into her hand. 

“You want to know my name? What for?” he asked, pausing while Arya was likely shouting her response. “To add to your list? What list?”

 _Oh, gods…not that list again,_ Sansa thought.

“A list of people you mean to kill?” Sandor roared with laughter. “Bloody hell, you’re hard work, aren’t you?” Even from across the room, Sansa could hear Arya’s cursing from the receiving end of the phone. Sandor shook his head and laughed some more before returning to kneel beside Sansa. “Go on, then. I’d like to see you try,” he said before handing the phone back to her.

“I told you it wasn’t Harry,” Sansa stated, tongue-in-cheek.

Arya was unusually silent. Just when Sansa was going to look at her phone to see if the call had ended, her sister said, “Don’t you dare get pregnant by that shit,” and hung up.

Sansa rolled her eyes and lowered the phone from her face, glancing over at Sandor apologetically. “My sister, she’s…”

“Ferocious as a wolf is what she is. A bloody list?” he scoffed. 

“My Uncle Brynden says it’s how she copes with the deaths of our parents and brother,” Sansa explained, circling her finger over his hand that rested on her thigh. “At first she added people she believes were involved in their murders, but now it’s extended to...well, really anyone. Obviously, she hasn’t killed anybody.” _That I know of._

Quite unexpectedly, Sandor leaned forward and kissed her on the lips. “Are you hungry?” 

“Yes,” Sansa admitted, wondering if she would always become breathless after his kisses.

Sandor stood up and took her hand in his to pull her onto her feet. “Let’s get something to eat before I need to leave for work.”

“Work?” she asked, pouting her lip.

“Aye, little bird,” he responded, kissing her bottom lip. “Not all of us have uncles paying our rent.”

“He’s not,” Sansa said defensively. “The university pays for me.”

“Is that so?” Sandor gripped her ass tightly with his hands but groaned painfully once he pressed his groin against her. “It’s a good thing I work tonight, little bird, because my cock really would fall off being around you all night.”

Sandor broke their embrace and surveyed the floor until he found the white undershirt that he had given to her last night, dressing her in it once again. Last night the action had frustrated her, but now she was smitten by it, so much so that she briefly considered telling him that she loved him. “When do you get off tonight?”

“Late,” was all that he decided to answer.

“All right,” said Sansa, deciding once again not to pry. “Do you want to come over while I get dressed?”

Sandor took one auburn lock of her hair and stroked it, almost sensually. “I’ll come over in a minute, girl.”

She stepped onto her toes to initiate the kiss that time which led into another makeout session before he unwillingly broke away so that he could walk her out. After she had grabbed her purse, Sansa kneeled down to rub Stranger’s chest before exiting his apartment, taking no more than five steps to reach her own. As she opened the purse to search for her keys, Sansa heard footsteps coming from the stairs, and oddly enough, they sounded familiar. _But I don’t know anyone else in the Crownlands,_ Sansa thought, and went back to taking out the key. Just as soon as she placed it into the lock and turned the latch, the footsteps stopped beside her at the top of the stairs. 

“Sansa,” a voice as familiar as the footsteps called out. The afternoon sun was hot and came down strong along the stairs, and when Sansa glanced over, she observed Harry Hardyng’s blonde hair shining, harsh and vexing.


	6. Chapter 6

Harry Hardyng screwed up his deep-blue eyes. That was as annoying to Sansa as the way his sandy hair reflected in the sun, but not half as irritating to her as hearing the sound of his voice. “Are you wearing a man’s shirt?” 

“What are you doing here?” Sansa asked in an anxious breath, taking a quick glance over her shoulder at Sandor’s door. “How do you know where I live?”

“I asked Jeyne,” Harry said, continuing to peer at her as he approached. “That’s a man’s shirt.”

“Jeyne?” Sansa could hardly believe it. _Why would she tell him? She knows how much I despise him for what he’s done to me._

The closer he got, the more dumbfounded he appeared. “I told her that I needed to give some things back to you -- you know how stupid she is. Sansa, who’s shirt is that?”

Once he stood directly in front of her, Sansa could hear Stranger growling on the other side of Sandor’s door. “Harry, you should go.”

“ _Go_? I just drove hours to come see you and work things out.”

“Work things out?” Sansa almost laughed. “No, I think not.”

Harry frowned at her and leaned with his shoulder against the smooth-stone wall of the breezeway, folding his arms across his chest. “Well that was before I saw you wearing another man’s shirt. So who is it, Sansa?”

Stranger wasn’t growling, he was barking, and Sansa wondered if she should tell Harry to say his final words before he’d be torn apart. “That’s really none of your business. Now leave me alone,” she said, opening her door to rush inside before the inevitable encounter between the two men would occur.

Her ex quickly stuck out his arm in front of her to block her from entering, surveying her up and down once again with his face twisted in disgust. “What are you now? A slut?”

Sansa didn’t even notice that Stranger had become silent, not until the door behind her swung open and slammed shut just as quickly. She tensed up, unable to bring herself to look at the man behind her, so she didn’t. Instead, Sansa decided to tightly shut her eyes while the exchange took place, wishing she could disappear.

“What the fuck did you just call her?” 

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Her neighbor -- who are you?” Sandor asked, though he did not have to.

“Her boyfriend.”

Sandor’s laugh was terrifying, foreboding. “No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am,” Harry bit back.

“No, you’re just some dumb cunt who couldn’t stop fucking around behind her back.”

“How do you-- Sansa, is this who you’re seeing now? This... _thug_?”

The closing of her eyes didn’t make her any less visible, and it was not the hot summer afternoon that made her begin to sweat.

“I had a good night last night, so I’m feeling a bit generous today,” Sandor said smugly. “I’ll give you to the count of three to fuck off.”

“Or what?” Harry asked with a wry chuckle. “You’ll kill me?”

“That’s right.”

Sansa’s eyes shot open. _Would he truly..._ ** _kill_ ** _him?_ she wondered. Not only did Harry lower his arm away from the door, but he took a step back. And when she looked in his eyes, there was nothing but fear. 

“You must not know who I am. My family is the wealthiest in the Vale,” Harry gloated.

She heard Sandor take a single methodical step forward. “One.”

“Really Sansa?” he whined, looking at her with bewilderment. “From me to some burn victim?”

Sansa stared at him wide-eyed and irate, speechless, utterly baffled by his blatant stupidity to say such a thing in front of a man twice his size and far more dangerous. It was not that she didn’t want anything to happen to Harry -- she couldn’t care less; it was her fear that Sandor would end up getting into trouble should her ex get the authorities involved as he was wont to do when bothered by others. 

Once another heavy step came forward, Sansa finally found it within her to turn around and press her back against the wooden doorframe, terrified she might see the Valyrian handgun somewhere on Sandor’s body.

“Two,” he uttered gravely. Even when his eyes were piercing, glaring at the blonde beside her, Sansa found herself licking her lips, suddenly aroused.

Harry chuckled in an attempt to hide his fear, but the sound of it trembled. Sansa had never seen him so scared. “I’ll go,” he yielded, retreating back towards the sunlit stairs. Just as she sighed with relief, the idiot looked over his shoulder and opened his mouth. “A piece of advice, man to man: if you buy her lemon cakes, she’ll suck your dick and let you come all over her face.”

Before Sansa could run over to the top of the stairs and slap him, Sandor strode forward and kicked Harry square in his chest, forcing him to fall back violently against the steep, stone steps. Even from the far end of the breezeway she could hear the sickening _crunch_ that had resulted from the fall, but learned that it had not been Harry’s skull once he started groaning and shouting.

“You broke my nose!” Harry yelped from the platform.

“I’ll break more than that if you don’t take your wealthy, broken nose out of the Crownlands. If I ever see you again, I’ll kill you.”

The threat sounded anything but empty. And as it came off his lips, the string of words seemed as familiar to him as breathing, piquing Sansa’s curiosity once again whether Sandor would truly kill a man. _Or...maybe he already has,_ she thought, remembering the scar on his shoulder. _Perhaps he had no choice._ Sandor spat onto the platform beneath him before turning away from injured, horror-stricken Harry Hardyng and returning to her. At some point during the previous interaction, Sansa dropped her purse and phone onto the ground, only realizing it when Sandor nudged it over with his foot to stand in front of her. When he reached for the handle to the door of her apartment, he pulled it closed.

Sansa stared up at him cautiously as he pressed himself against her and witnessed his eyes glittering with malevolence. “Sandor,” she exhaled.

“Go on,” he dared her. “I know what you want to ask me.”

She gasped when his hand traveled up her thigh, meeting her pantyless sex that had become wet while watching Sandor defend her. “Have you…”

Sandor slipped a finger inside of her, causing her to smother her face into his solid chest to muffle her cry. It was so tender, but she didn’t want him to stop. 

“Have I what?”

Lifting her face towards him, biting her lip from the synchronous pain and pleasure below, Sansa asked, “Have you ever killed someone?”

His expression was somehow blank and fiendish all at once. “Would that frighten you, little bird?”

It should have, but it didn’t. Or perhaps it would have had her judgement not been clouded by the finger that was fucking her and the love she had for the man doing it. “No,” she squeaked. 

“Then yes,” Sandor confessed, removing his finger from her entrance to rub her swollen clit. “I have.”

Sansa clenched both hands onto his shirt, moaning. “Who?”

“Who I needed to.” He pulled his hand away only to grab her thighs and lift her up against the wall, wrapping her aching legs around his waist. Sansa felt the ruggedness of his dark jeans on her bare sex until the smoothness of his erect cock replaced it.

“Someone might see us,” she blurted, despite bucking her hips forward, desperate to squeeze around his girth. 

“Then I’ll kill them, too,” Sandor whispered, the words as genuine as they were sinister. Sansa inhaled sharply once his length filled her, stifling her screams by biting onto his shoulder as he pounded into her against the wall. His grunts were sharp, too, and for a moment, she thought he might be in more pain than pleasure until he groaned, “You’re so fucking wet.” 

Even with the pain, it felt better to her than anytime before. Sansa wrapped her arms around his neck to kiss him, moaning against his lips as he drove himself into her, and wondered if it was the thrill of being caught that made every stroke feel more potent than the last. _Or is it the thrill of knowing that he has killed someone before?_

Her thoughts were muddled by the taste of his tongue and the sensation of sweat dripping down her back. Sansa pulled her mouth away to stare at him, entranced by the glistening sweat that dripped from his brow and the haunting quality in his grey eyes. The only thing that stopped her from telling him that she loved him right there was the orgasm that incapacitated her, leaving her unable to do anything other than curse and whimper and moan. 

Sansa was still enjoying her climax when Sandor achieved his own, and it occurred to her then why their coupling felt different, better, more powerful. It was not because they were outside, not even because she learned that he had once taken a life, but it was because his cock was bare, free of any condom. Even so, he didn’t make any effort to stop himself from ejaculating deep inside of her, and neither did she. Now that Sansa knew how it felt to have him raw, immensely fond of the novel sensation of his semen spilling inside of her to mix with her own fluids, Sansa never wanted him to use a condom again -- not ever.

“Seven fucking hells,” he cursed, drained, wincing as he pulled his cock out. “Fuck, little bird. I’m sorry.” 

Sansa initially thought his cursing and wincing had been due to pain, but it became clear to her that he never intended on finishing inside of her. “It’s all right,” Sansa panted, heat exhausted from sex and summer alike. “I’ll go buy a moontea pill today.” Although she had never taken the emergency contraceptive before, several of her friends had and not one of them had become pregnant afterwards. _Arya_ **_did_ ** _just warn me, too,_ Sansa remembered, annoyed by her sister’s earlier call.

“I’ll pay for it,” Sandor said, lowering her onto the ground. “And I won’t do it again.” He sounded cross with himself.

Sansa lifted up her hand to brush away the dark strands of hair that fell over his face and stuck to his sweaty skin, all the while thinking of which birth control she would get on. “But I want you to.”

  
  


* * *

Sansa’s phone blared at first light, waking her up at the time she had scheduled to get herself ready for the first day of the semester. The soreness in her body was even worse than it had been yesterday, and the missing presence of Sandor Clegane made the aches more painful still.

After having had unforgettable sex inside the breezeway, he had not said another word to her about who it was that he had killed when they went out that afternoon. But just like with the mysterious gunshot wound on his shoulder, Sansa trusted that in time he’d tell her. _It was self-defense,_ she told herself. _If he was some killer, he would have taken Harry’s life right there._ The urge to call Sandor just then was strong, but Sansa knew that he’d likely be sleeping after working all night and decided to wait. 

Swinging her burning legs over the bed, Sansa immediately took a steamy shower to soothe her aches and cleanse herself, followed by drying her thick, auburn hair with a towel and brushing it until her soft, natural waves took form. After applying a touch of mascara and lipgloss, Sansa dressed in a soft green v-neck top that complemented her complexion, paired with dark blue jeans and white sandals. Sansa had always been one to dress up for school, often wearing pretty blouses and dresses no matter the day, but Jeyne had told her that in university most students kept it far more casual. _Why am I even listening to Jeyne after her telling Harry where I lived?_ she wondered, dreading having to return her missed call. Nonetheless, Sansa heeded her friend’s advice and hoped what she said would be true. 

Just as she was finishing packing her bag, her phone rang and her heart stilled. Sansa ran over to the nightstand to take it off the charger and saw the new contact name she had given him: The Hound, followed by a red heart (his favorite color). Jubilantly, Sansa swiped the phone to answer and placed it onto her ear eagerly, smiling and in love. 

“Hello?”

“Little bird,” he said, perturbed almost. “When do your classes start?”

His troubled tone made her smile fall. “In an hour,” answered Sansa. “Are you home? I want to see you before I drive to campus.”

“I’m outside, in the parking lot,” Sandor muttered. He suddenly sounded angry. “I’ll drive you.”

“Oh, you don’t need--”

Sandor sighed. _There’s something wrong,_ she knew. “Are you ready now?”

“Yes,” she said hesitantly. “I’ll be right out.”

Forgetting all about eating breakfast, Sansa grabbed her bag and tossed it over one shoulder, scurrying out of her apartment and locking the door behind her before descending down the stairs to meet the man she loved. Once she walked towards the parking lot, she saw Sandor Clegane standing there with his hands on his hips, kicking his foot in the dirt beside the pavement and cursing under his breath. Sansa had been so bewitched by the sight of him that it took her a full minute to realize that he was standing in front of her brand new car, windows now bashed in, tires slashed and flattened, and the word ‘SLUT’ painted large in black paint on the white hood.


	7. Chapter 7

She had never heard cursing quite like what she was hearing on the ride to Crownlands University, not even from her Uncle Brynden that one time Arya had taken off with his car when she was no older than thirteen years old. 

“That dumb fucking cunt...stupid bloody fucking bastard...wealthy buggering blonde cocksucking shit,” Sandor grumbled. 

Sansa sighed, stressed and exhausted and the day had only begun. “Sandor, I think we should call the police.”

“The pol--” he couldn’t even get the word out before another slew of curses left his mouth, his volume loud enough to startle her. “No.”

“Why not?” asked Sansa, confused as to why her proposal triggered him.

Sandor gave her a quick, forbidding glance and said, “Fuck the police, that’s why.”

Staggered by his response, Sansa kept to herself afterwards, staring at her phone in her lap thinking of how she would explain to her uncle what happened.  _ Sandor may not be the only person I know who has killed a man once I tell Uncle Brynden what Harry has done,  _ she thought. Although she had been hesitant to tell her uncle, she did manage to send Arya a picture of what her ex had done, to which her sister replied: “Number one on my list.”

Sick to her stomach with worry, or perhaps because she hadn’t eaten that morning, Sansa felt relieved once Sandor reached over and held her hand, brushing her thumb gently with his own. “I’m sorry, little bird. I’ll take care of it while you’re in class.”

_ Take care of it, how?  _ she wondered.  _ Maybe I don't want to know.  _ Sansa took a deep breath and looked out the window, gasping loudly when a large green sign caught her eye. “Oh, wait! Pull over here!”

“Bloody hell, girl!” Sandor boomed, veering over to the right. “You’re going to make us crash gasping and shouting at me like that.”

“I’m sorry,” Sansa giggled, covering her sudden amusement with her hand. “Can you stop by Darkstars?  _ Please _ ?”

“The little bird likes coffee, does she?”

“Don’t you?” 

“Never was fond of it,” he said, parking into a vacant space beside the coffeehouse. “What do you want, girl?” 

“I’ll go inside -- you’ll never be able to remember my order,” Sansa teased.

Sandor pulled her in for a kiss once he caught her smiling. “Is that so? Try me.” 

Smitten as ever by his affection, she said, “All right, so I get medium latte, iced, but not too much ice, with two pumps of vanilla syrup, nonfat milk, and I like a sprinkle of cinnamon on top, but just a sprinkle.”

It was clear by his expression that he did not understand a word of it. “Go on, little bird,” he surrendered, pulling out his wallet from his pocket.

Sansa pushed the cash away once he handed it to her. “You don’t have to pay for everything.”

“Take it. And get yourself something to eat, little bird. Don’t think I was cursing too loud to hear your stomach growling over there.”

That time, Sansa leaned in to kiss him and carefully climbed out of the truck before he’d go out of his way to help her with that, too.  _ He may be fierce in nature, but no one has ever treated me so well,  _ she thought amorously.

Luckily, the line had been short when she walked in, and within five minutes, Sansa had ordered and received her latte and sandwich. After she had exited the coffeehouse, she saw two policemen getting out of their car a few spots down from where Sandor was parked, becoming agitated when she remembered what he had said.  _ Sandor clearly has no love for them. I wonder why.  _ As she made her way towards the truck, one of the policemen, a man with droopy eyes and a red beard, whistled at her as she approached, and quite obnoxiously, asked her for her name. 

And then the seven hells broke loose. 

Sandor jumped out from the truck and marched over to her, each step more furious than the last, and took her hand possessively. 

“Well if it isn’t Sandor fucking Clegane!” The droopy-eyed man hooted with laughter. “Don’t tell me that hot piece of ass is with  _ you _ .”

Sansa looked at the white-uniformed man with her mouth gaped open, unbelieving of his blatant disrespect.

“Meryn, if you say one more word, that pistol in my truck will be up your fucking ass,” Sandor spat as he pulled her away.

“Go on, you ugly fucker. We’ll be sure to let Sir know about your bitch.” It was not the man named Meryn who spoke, but the other, a man who had eyes that were flat and pale. Sansa had never seen two men who looked more cruel than they did.

Once they were back inside Sandor’s truck, he threw the gearshift into reverse and resumed his grousing. “Bloody fucking useless cunts.”

Sansa had grown weary of holding back her questions and decided that she would just ask. “Who were those men?”

“Cunts,” he grumbled

“Sandor,” she sighed. “Who were they? And who is Sir?”

“A much bigger cunt.”

“How do you know them?” Sansa continued to pry, determined to obtain a useful answer.

“That’s enough questions, little bird,” he muttered as he merged into traffic. “If one of those shits ever tries to speak to you when I’m not there, I want you to promise me that you’ll call me.”

The severity of his tone frightened her. “Sandor, why--”

Sansa nearly dropped her coffee onto her lap when he slammed his hand onto the steering wheel. “Please, Sansa! Promise me!” Hearing him plead sounded strange -- it even hurt. It did not take long for her to realize that he was not angry with her, he was scared. 

“I promise,” Sansa spoke softly. 

He briefly took his eyes off the road to look at her, but he never said a word. Instead, he reached for her hand and held onto it tightly, as if he feared that at any moment she might disappear. The silence lingered until he pulled over in the front of the massive parking lot, teeming with cars of a variety of makes and colors, each glinting underneath the warm morning sun, oppressive, even in the morning. As Sansa placed her hand on the buckle to release her seatbelt, Sandor placed his hand on top of hers.

“It’s not just politicians that are corrupt here, girl,” Sandor muttered bleakly. “It’s everyone.”

“Not you,” Sansa said as she leaned in for a kiss, the touch of his lips elevating her, giving her the confidence she would need for her first day of classes.

When Sansa pulled away, he grabbed the back of her neck and brought her back to him, kissing her again and again, hot and passionate and desperate. “Have a good day, little bird.”  
  


* * *

“Psst! Hey!”

Sitting alone in the front row of a large lecture hall minutes before her Intro to Westerosi Politics class would begin, Sansa glanced over her shoulder and observed two girls sitting beside one another, both of whom were pretty, brunette, and slender. Upon turning around, the one who was not smiling at her phone waved Sansa over. 

“Would you like to join us?”

“Sure,” Sansa said with a shy smile, picking up her bag and coffee to sit three rows back. As she approached the two girls, she observed they were both wearing long, vibrant summer dresses and cursed herself for listening to Jeyne about dressing casually.

“I’m Margaery,” the brown-eyed girl said. She was even prettier up close, and joy seemed to blossom from her like a flower. “This is my cousin Elinor.” The other girl looked up briefly from her phone while texting to give her a quick, genial smile. 

“It’s nice to meet the both of you,” she said, sitting in the seat beside Margaery. “I’m Sansa.”

Elinor lowered her phone and looked at her cousin with delight. “You were right,” she tittered.

Margaery gave Sansa a sympathetic smile. “Excuse my cousin -- I told her that I thought you to be the daughter of Eddard and Catelyn Stark. I remember your mother having the same beautiful hair.”

“Oh, thank you,” Sansa said curiously. “You knew my parents?”

“I met them once, years ago -- my father, Mace Tyrell, works in the capital. There’s not a man or woman here who has forgotten what happened to your family and President Baratheon,” Margaery placed her hand tenderly on top of hers in Sansa’s lap. “I pray to the seven that whoever was behind their murders is brought to justice.”

Sansa fought the urge to shout out that it was without a doubt Cersei Lannister, but for all she knew, Margaery Tyrell could very well be a supporter of hers. Heeding the advice of her uncle and remembering what Sandor had told her just before walking to class, she decided to remain silent, giving Margaery a small, grateful smile in return.

Elinor looked away from her phone and leaned across Margaery to whisper, “I’ve heard things about who did it, Sansa.”

Margaery took her hand off Sansa’s and tapped her cousin lightly on the head. “Elinor, those are just rumors and we do not spread rumors. Especially not dangerous ones.”

“She should know,” Elinor mumbled as she returned to swiping through her phone. “I’d want to know.”

Desperate wasn’t the word to describe how Sansa felt to know what Elinor may have heard.  _ If Margaery says it’s dangerous...could it be because it’s about Cersei Lannister?  _ After an extended silence, Sansa cleared her throat and asked, “You said your father worked in the capital -- are you interested in a career in politics?”

The brunette gave her a girlish smirk. “Amongst other things,” she whispered, glancing over her shoulder. “Sansa, tell me who it is you see back there.”

With her curiosity piqued, Sansa turned around and surveyed the back of the hall, her eyes widening once she spotted a young man with golden hair laughing obnoxiously with a group of others. “Is that Joffrey Baratheon?”  _ Also known as I_AM_THE_KING_69.  _ She had to refrain from bursting into laughter when she remembered how she had killed him in Storm of Swords with Sandor. 

“He fancies our little Margaery,” Elinor said proudly, sending out another text.

Margaery rolled her eyes. “We’re having a party this weekend to celebrate surviving the first week of classes. You should come! He’ll be there, as will many of his friends,” she added with a playful smirk.

Sansa had to hold back from grimacing when thinking about the implication she was making about Joffrey and his friends who were roughhousing in the back of the hall. “That’s very kind of you to invite me, but I have a…neighbor.” 

The Tyrell girls looked at one another and giggled prettily. “We all have neighbors, Sansa.”

Sansa wondered if that is what Arya saw when her and Jeyne used to laugh together in front of her.  _ It really is a bit frustrating…  _ “I mean, he’s not just a neighbor, he’s my--”

“Boyfriend?” Margaery posed.

It struck Sansa as odd how she could shamelessly want Sandor to come inside of her yet shied away from calling him her boyfriend.  _ Does he think of me as his girlfriend? _ “Yes, my boyfriend,” Sansa said, her heart fluttering inside her chest at the admission.

“You’re dating your dorm room neighbor? That’s cute!” Elinor said, texting all the while.

Sansa looked at the girl and wondered if she lived on her phone. “I don’t live on campus.”

Margaery tilted her head to the side, her soft brown curls falling over her shoulder. “Why not?” 

“My uncle said it would be easier for me to focus on my studies living somewhere more quiet.”  _ Little did he know that Sandor Clegane would be my neighbor...my boyfriend,  _ she thought, a faint smile playing on her lips.

“Sansa, if we did everything our fathers and uncles told us, life would be no fun at all,” Margaery said with a hint of mischief. “So, does your boyfriend go here?”

Sansa shook her head. “No, he’s older.”

“Lucky you.” Margaery gently nudged her shoulder. “Older men know how to treat a woman...in more ways than one. Or so I hear.”

“You already know it’s true,” Elinor added cheekily as she scrolled through her phone. 

“He used to work in the Red Keep,” Sansa added. “Maybe you’ve met him.”

“Oh!” Margaery beamed with excitement. “What’s his name?” 

“Sandor Clegane,” Sansa revealed, the name sweet as ever on her tongue.

Elinor’s phone fell from her hand and onto the table, and when she looked over at Sansa, she looked as frightened as Harry had when Sandor threatened his life.

“What is it?” Sansa asked, suddenly unnerved.

The willowy girl swallowed. “His--”

Margaery abruptly laughed out loud and interposed. “It’s silly, really. When we came to visit the capital with my father years ago, he made her cry. Well, truth be told, he didn’t actually  _ do _ anything. Elinor was only frightened by his…”

She didn’t want to say it, but she didn’t have to.  _ His scars,  _ Sansa knew. _ I was never frightened by them, only fascinated.  _ “Oh, I see.”

Professor Luwin walked into the lecture hall just then, saving them from having to continue the conversation that had become sufficiently awkward. As he was setting up the lecture slides, Margaery leaned over to Sansa and whispered, “You should still come to the party; we’d love to have you there. I’ll find you on Glass Candle and invite you to the event.”

“All right,” Sansa whispered back, ill at ease. Margaery smiled at her once more before opening up her planner and jotting down notes with her bright green pen, while Elinor sat there silent and tense, her phone resting atop the table.  
  
  


* * *

  
  


“How was your first day, little bird?”

After the first day of classes, and the conversation with the Tyrell girls, Sansa was thankful that she would only need to come to campus twice a week. It was a pleasant surprise, however, to find that Sandor was in a much better mood that afternoon. As he eagerly helped her into his truck, she noticed that the exterior of it was gleaming in the sunlight, and inside there was a freshness. “It was...odd,” she answered once he sat in the driver's seat.

“Odd?” he asked, kissing her before putting the truck into drive. “Odd how?”

_ Because Elinor Tyrell acts like you are the Stranger himself all because of something as shallow as your scars.  _ The thought made her angry. “It’s nothing. You had your truck cleaned today?”

“Aye, and your car, too. But it’ll be a couple of days before you’re able to drive yours again.”

She turned in her seat as much as she could with the restraint of the seatbelt and stared at him. “Did you get my car fixed?”

He looked over at her, amused. “Well don’t sound too bloody excited.”

“My uncle would’ve done that once I told him.”

Sandor shrugged and placed his hand on her thigh. “Well now there’s no need to tell him, little bird.”

Thinking of how expensive it would have been to repair the ruin that Harry Hardyng left her, she said, “Sandor, I can’t let you pay for that.”

“Why not?” he asked nonchalantly. 

“Um, because…how much did it cost?”

“Not much.”

Sansa considered him, recalling all of the times he had spent money on her in the span of a few days. “Are you rich?”

He gave a bark of laughter. “ _ Rich? _ No.”

“So how can you--”

Sandor pulled over to the side of the road at once, aggressively shifting the gear into park. “Do you realize what that dumb cunt did to your car was because of me? I doubt that twat would have had his temper tantrum had I not been there to damage his wealthy little ego. I told you I’d take care of it, so that’s what I’ll do.”

Sansa stared at his grey eyes, eyes that were capable of conveying every type of emotion and feeling there was, and found that they were full of comfort -- assertive still, yet comforting. Her eyes then traveled along the left side of his face, observing over every scar, every inch of skin that had been mysteriously blackened by fire, leaving her to wonder how Elinor Tyrell could be repulsed by the very same man that Sansa loved. The silence endured for a moment longer until a swell of affection overcame her. “I want to be your girlfriend.”

Sandor seized her jaw with his hand, and in response, her clit tingled. “You’re more than just that to me, little bird.” He placed one deep kiss on her lips before removing his tight grasp, putting the truck back into drive. 

Slightly disappointed when he had not pulled her onto his lap instead, Sansa looked out the window as he drove on, the beating sun steadily descending into the western horizon, and was greeted with a wicked idea once she saw that there was traffic ahead.  _ His truck is lifted, his windows are tinted...no one will be able to see.  _

After subtly removing her seatbelt, Sansa lifted her hands onto the collar of her green v-neck top and pulled the fabric down, reaching inside the cups of her bra to pull out her breasts. Sandor was too busy cursing at the traffic to notice, so Sansa feigned a soft, little cough in an effort to grab his attention. When he took a quick glance over, his foot fell heavy on the brakes, forcing her to stretch her arms out against the dashboard so she wouldn’t be tossed forward.

“Bloody fucking hell,” he rasped, his eyes glued to her bare breasts that jiggled with her laughter from his reaction. “Get your seatbelt on.”

Sansa pouted. “Don’t you want to grab them?”

A low, grumbling sound reverberated inside his chest before the car behind them honked, impelling him to look away. “I want to fuck them, but I’m driving. I’ll be damned to the seven hells before something happens to you.”

Sansa sat on her knees to face him and fondled her breasts, pinching her nipples softly with her dainty fingers. “I’ll grab them for you then.”

Sandor turned his head back and forth between the traffic and her breasts so quickly that she thought he’d become dizzy. His right hand came off the steering wheel to grope one, groaning when the roundness filled his palm. “When we get home, I’m fucking you with that pink toy. I swear it to the bloody gods.”

Her eyes fell from his face onto his lap. Once she saw the bulge in his pants, nothing could stop her. Sansa leaned forward and reached her hand inside, pulling out his cock and placing it on her lips before he might say otherwise -- he never did. 

Sansa arched her back as she licked up and down his length with the tip of her tongue, wrapping one hand around the shaft when she decided to stop teasing him and place the head of his cock into her mouth. A heavy hand fell on top of her head, taking a handful of her hair fiercely. “Oh, fuck,” he groaned. “I’ll fuck you right here in the middle of bloody traffic.”

She moaned over his length, the vibrations of it making him grip tighter onto her hair as he guided her up and down. Sansa let her hand stroke his cock in time with the up and down motions, varying the pressure from soft to firm, producing another round of curse words to escape Sandor Clegane inside his truck, but these were welcomed. No words ever sounded so pleasant to her. 

Her phone started ringing, but she ignored it. Reaching in with the hand that was not stroking him, Sansa fondled his balls while gagging on his cock. The more growls and moans that escaped him, the more turned on she became. Twirling her tongue around his shift enthusiastically, moaning with every suck and stroke alike, Sansa found herself obtaining her own pleasure just by tasting him. When his hand fell from her hair to reach over and dig inside her jeans, groping her ass that poked up in the air, she thought she might even come. Before she could pull her jeans down and let him finger her while she sucked, he cursed once more, louder than all the rest, and shot his warm load inside her mouth. It tasted as good to her as he did, and while she continued to move slowly up and down his length to collect all that he had to offer, Sansa swallowed it eagerly. Upon placing one last lick on the tip of his cock, his sensitivity making him jolt, she sat back in her seat and admired the expression on his face, wrought with rapture.

When she looked out the window, wiping both semen and spit from her lips with the back of her hand, Sansa was surprised to see their apartment complex down the road. 

“We’re already home?”

“Aye,” he panted, “and fuck if I know how we made it.”

Sansa remembered that she had received a call while pleasuring Sandor and reached into her bag to find her phone. As he pulled into the parking lot, he gave a breathy, derisive laugh. “Look, little bird. There’s some child out in the grass swinging around a buggering sword.”

Just when Sansa was about to return her little sister’s missed call, she shifted her attention from her phone and onto the sight in front of her, gasping. “Arya.”


	8. Chapter 8

Sansa looked at Arya and then at Uncle Brynden’s sleek, black sports car, and then back at Arya.

“You stole his car...again?”

“He’s out fishing with Uncle Edmure today,” Arya said, her voice shaking as she swung her sword at a nearby tree, practicing what Sansa assumed were her fencing lessons. “He won’t notice...till tonight.”

Sansa rubbed her temples with both hands.  _ First Harry, then the Tyrells, and now my sister.  _ “Arya, you should be in school. And how in the Known World do you own a real sword?”

Disregarding the question, her sister spun around and slashed the steel against the bark, breaking off several pieces into the dead grass. “Is that shit too afraid to come out of his truck?”

“Truly, Arya? I told him I wanted to speak with you alone first.”

“What’s his name?” she huffed, wiping the sweat from her forehead. 

Sansa folded her arms and popped out her hip. “Why did you come here?”

“For Harry,” Arya said curtly.

“Harry wouldn’t have stayed in the Crownlands. He’s likely back in the Vale.”

Arya stuck the point of her sword into the ground, her eyes fixated on the black truck behind her. “His Glass Candle profile still says he’s here.”

Sansa furrowed her brow. “You’re friends with him on Glass Candle?”

“No, I hacked into his account,” her little sister mumbled.

“You….” Sansa shook her head. “Oh, Arya.”

“I can’t tell  _ where  _ in the Crownlands he is, but he’s still here.”

_ Why would he be in the Crownlands? _ Sansa wondered. _ His classes should have started today at the Eyrie. _ “Well I don’t--” she was cut off when Arya reached for her phone, entering the passcode that she somehow knew. “Give me back my phone!” 

Arya dodged Sansa’s attempt to pull her arm, squinting at the phone screen in the setting sunlight. “What the fuck? Do you not text him?”

_ She’s looking for his name to add to that stupid list,  _ Sansa knew. “Arya, stop it!” 

Taking the bag off her shoulders, Sansa tossed it at her, missing due to Arya’s quick reflexes. When Arya proceeded to pull up her call log, she said, “The  _ Hound _ ?”

At some point during the scuffle with her sister, Sandor exited the truck and interposed himself between the two Stark daughters, picking up Arya by the collar of her shirt like one might pick up a pup. “How the buggering hell are you even of the same blood?” 

“Let go of me!” Arya shouted, swinging her legs in the air. Sansa couldn’t help but laugh at the sight. 

Snatching the phone from Arya’s grasp, Sandor rasped, “If I put you down, you better behave or I’ll toss you into that pool over there.”

Her sister kept still and silent, prompting Sandor to place Arya back onto her feet. As soon as he did, she leaned down to pick up her sword from the ground and pointed it at him, scrutinizing him with a sickening frown. “Well, he’s a far cry from Harry.”

“That little weapon of yours will be a far cry from your bloody hand if you don’t lower it.”

Quite resentfully, her little sister did just that, but her grip was unrelenting. “The Hound,” she said, repulsed. “I saw your name in her phone. And now that I know it, you’ve earned a place on my list.”

He looked over at Sansa, unfazed by Arya’s ridiculous threat. “That’s my name in your phone?” 

Sansa read his eyes and saw an adoration so deep she could have drowned in it. “Yes,” she said with a coy smile. A piercing sensation hit her just then, and when she shifted her glance, she discovered her sister peering at her uncomfortably close. “What are you staring at?”

“Your mascara.”

“My mascara?” asked Sansa, wiping her fingers underneath her eyes.

Arya glared at Sandor. “Were you crying?” 

“She wasn’t crying, you she-wolf. Your sister was choking on something inside my truck. But don’t worry, I helped her out.” 

It was a mystery to her how Sandor could maintain his composure, for Sansa could not refrain from covering her mouth with the same hand she used to stroke his manhood in a feeble attempt to hide her laughter. 

Arya regarded him sourly for a moment and then raised her sword, aiming for Sandor’s chest before he slapped it out of her hand. When she leaned down to pick it up, Sandor scooped her up and tossed her over his shoulder. 

“You’re the worst shit I’ve ever met!” Arya screamed.

He was unbothered by the small fists slamming into his back. “Go on, little bird,” he said, gesturing towards the stairs. He kneeled down to pick up Arya’s sword, chuckling wryly. “Some bloody sword this is. It’s like picking up a tiny needle.”

The cool air inside her apartment was almost as pleasing as having Sandor in her mouth. Had Arya not been there, Sansa would have collapsed onto her bed and taken a nap with him, or perhaps even let Sandor finally use her vibrator on her. Instead, Sansa was stuck having to hold the door open while Sandor lugged her sister inside and plopped her down onto the couch.

“I’ll be right back, little bird,” Sandor said over his hound’s barking. “I’ll bring Stranger over here to inspect this she-wolf else he’ll break that door down. And this bloody sword is coming with me.”

After he left, Sansa washed her hands and drank a glass of water while Arya sat on the couch in silence with her arms crossed like a petulant child. Minutes later the door opened and Stranger ran in, greeting Sansa lovingly and sitting beside her feet, staring at Arya. He was neither threatened nor excited upon seeing her sister, and Sansa was simply grateful that he didn’t try to rip off one of her limbs.

“I don’t like that dog,” Arya mumbled. “Where’s my sword?”

Sandor walked into the kitchen and filled a glass of water from the faucet, chugging it straight down. “Locked away -- Brynden Blackfish would do well to whoop you from time to time.”

“How do you know our uncle’s nickname?” her sister asked suspiciously.

“Everyone who has worked in the Red Keep knows your stubborn uncle,” he said, refilling his glass.

Arya uncrossed her arms and stood from the couch. “You worked in the Red Keep? When? Do you know who killed our parents and Robb?”

“If he knew, he would have told me, Arya,” Sansa answered. 

Her little sister glowered at him. “Can I spend the night?”

“Seven fucking hells,” Sandor grumbled.

“I didn’t ask you!” Arya tore off one shoe and threw it at him. He caught it and threw it back, hitting her in the thigh.

Sansa’s head was pounding from shouting and stress alike. “You have school tomorrow, Arya. Besides, any minute now Uncle Brynden will be calling you.”

Her sister’s phone rang in the same breath, her ringtone some eerie song by her favorite band, The Faceless Men. “Hello?”

Sansa could hear her uncle’s booming voice coming from the phone and laughed quietly.  _ He’ll never let her stay,  _ she thought.

“I’m fine….I’m at Sansa’s….because she got some ugly hound and I wanted to see it….I’m sorry about taking your car….again….can I at least spend the night?....please?....I don’t want to drive in the dark or else I may wreck your car….I’ll leave at first light...I promise….yes, by the old gods and the new….all right, I’ll tell her….love you, too. Bye.” Arya hung up and grinned. “He wants you to call him, Sansa. Oh, and he said I can spend the night.”

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


“I don’t like the way your hound from hell looks at me,” Arya complained, glaring at Stranger who laid beside the front door.

“He hates the way you look at him, too.” Sandor said. “Now pick a buggering weapon or I’ll shut this thing off.”

While preparing dinner in the kitchen, Sansa had a clear view of her little sister and boyfriend playing on the Cyvasse he had brought over and set up inside her living room. The two sat as far apart as they could from one another on the couch, and while the bickering was constant, it was some of the best entertainment Sansa had ever witnessed.

“You picked a bloody morning star?” Sandor griped.

Arya looked over at him and sneered. “It’s a weapon.”

“A weapon for cunts.”

“I’ll beat whoever it is,” her little sister said with confidence. “If you weren’t such a loner and had a second controller, I’d beat you, too.”

Sandor dropped his head into his hands as if he couldn’t take anymore. “If I get another one, will you shut your mouth?”

“No.”

Despite the curses and shouting, there was something oddly comforting, heartwarming even, watching Sandor teach her sister how to play Storm of Swords.

She would have sat down in between them to watch more closely, but after her last cooking incident, Sansa was adamant about staying close to the stove. “Who are you fighting, Arya?” 

“The Onion Knight -- even that  _ stupid _ username is better than The Hound.”

“One more bloody word out of you and I’ll toss you back to the Riverlands.”

Arya said something under her breath before the match began. 

“You have to block, you can’t just keep attacking like a rabid she-wolf,” Sandor spat.

“Really?” Arya said, smashing the buttons on the controller until Sansa could hear the victory jingle coming from the game. “So how did I beat The Onion Knight then?”

“Because he was a shit player. You won’t get lucky everytime just swinging your weapon about. There are times when you need to prolong the kill, wait for the right time to strike -- all that horse shit.”

“I’m choosing a greatsword this time.” 

“It’ll make you slower.”

Her little sister shrugged. “It might make you slower, but not me.”

“It’s a bloody game! It works the same whether it’s me or you playing!” he bellowed.

Sansa giggled and turned away to remove the grilled, seasoned chicken from the skillet and portion it out onto three plates, adding steamed green beans on the side. Pleased with the success of the meal as opposed to the last time she tried to cook for Sandor, she said, “You can play later, Arya. Dinner is ready.”

Sandor stood up from the couch, visibly eager to get away from Arya who made no such effort to stop playing. “Hold on, I’m just now getting into a fight.”

He came up behind her in the kitchen and wrapped his arms around her waist. “So, the little bird can cook,” he whispered, kissing the side of her neck. “Gods, you’re so fucking perfect.” 

Unable to sit on top of the counter and spread her legs for Sandor due to her sister’s presence, Sansa looked over her shoulder and kissed him, to which her sister responded by obnoxiously gagging and groaning. Once she was preoccupied with the game, Sandor pinned Sansa against the kitchen counter and moved one hand inside the front of her jeans, rubbing over her sex. “I’m fucking you with that toy tonight, girl,” he breathed against her neck.

“Seven fucking hells!” 

At first, Sansa thought her sister was screaming at the pornographic display in the kitchen until she realized it had been directed towards the game.

“This person is a fucking cheat!” 

“Is that so?” Sandor asked, his hand rubbing Sansa’s clit all the while. “Who are you playing this time?”

“Some shit named The Mountain.”

In the blink of an eye, Sandor removed his hand from her and strode over to the couch, ripping the Cyvasse controller from Arya’s hands. 

“What the fuck!”

The sisters watched in stupefaction as Sandor fought the opponent like his life depended on it. “Die you dumb fucking shithead cunt!”

“Seven hells, he’s even worse than Uncle Brynden,” Arya said as she grabbed her plate from the countertop.

“Sandor,” Sansa said, wringing her hands together. He didn’t hear. Or perhaps he did. She couldn’t tell, for he was engrossed with the game like nothing she had ever seen, not even when Rickon and Bran used to play.

“Fuck!” he shouted. He was so loud that even Stranger sat up in alarm. The screen turned red, much like Sandor’s face, twisting with fury. “Fucking seven fucking bloody hells!” The cyvasse controller hit the ground violently, the plastic splitting in two. Sandor left the apartment without another word.

Arya looked at her sister, laughed, and with a mouthful of chicken, she said, “I like him.”

* * *

  
  


Two hours and ten unanswered calls later, he returned. 

On the couch, Sansa and Arya sat watching television in the living room while Stranger slept with his head resting on her lap. He perked up at the sound of the door opening and ran over to greet his owner, quickly returning to curl up beside Sansa afterwards.

As Sandor entered, she discovered that he was carrying a bouquet of roses, pale blue and frosted. Sansa couldn’t believe her eyes. 

“Aw, you shouldn’t have,” Arya said. 

Aside from the light coming from the television, the living room was dark, making whatever it was he threw at Arya a white, speeding blur. 

“Will you shut your mouth now?”

Sansa looked over at her sister as she inspected the projectile. “Oh, an apple cake -- honey would’ve been better, but I suppose this will do.”

“Arya,” Sansa scolded her.

“Thanks,” Arya said, avoiding eye contact. “Can I eat this in your room?”

“Go ahead,” she sighed. “Just don’t make a mess.”

Arya stood up from the couch and stretched, looking over at Sandor with a taunting smirk. “Looks like you can’t spend the night tonight. I played the Game of Faces with Sansa and she lost, so I got the bed.”

“I’ll sleep on the floor, now bugger off.”

“Can I have my sword back first?”

“One. More. Word.” Sandor warned. 

Arya huffed and walked over to Sansa’s room, slamming the door closed.

“Little bird.” He approached as softly as he spoke and sat beside her on the couch, placing the winter roses in her lap. 

“Where did you get them?” Sansa placed the flowers by her nose and closed her eyes, remembering home. Her real home -- the North. “I haven’t seen winter roses since I was a girl.”

“They’re from the capital.”

“Thank you, but why did you leave? I kept calling and--”

She forgot her question when the kiss began, and by the time it ended, she didn’t even care anymore why he left. 

“I saved your food,” she breathed against his mouth.

“I’ll eat later, little bird,” he said. “Just lay with me.”

Sansa placed the roses softly on the floor and gently bidded Stranger to get down from the couch so she and Sandor could lay together. There was hardly enough room for the both of them, but they managed to make it work with him laying on his side behind her while she pressed her back against him, covering their legs with a blanket.

It was silent after that aside from a rerun of her favorite drama series, ‘The Prince That Was Promised’, playing on the television and the sound of the air conditioner running in the hall. The white noise made her drowsy, but the man behind her made her something else.  _ Arya will be asleep by now,  _ she thought.  _ If we are quiet, she won’t hear us.  _ Due to his sudden somber mood, Sansa was unsure if Sandor would want to be intimate, but once she pressed her ass against him, grinding over his stiffening manhood, he gave a grunt of approval.

“Keep doing that, girl.”

He didn’t have to tell her. Her hips had a mind of their own, relishing the sensation of his cock rubbing against the roundness of her ass. A release was much needed after the long day she had, beginning with discovering her car had been vandalized by her jealous, prideful ex.  _ That feels like a lifetime ago now,  _ she thought _. _ It seemed impossible that so much could happen in a single day: her car, her first day of classes, the Tyrells, her sister showing up; it stressed her out just to think of it all, but the solution to that stress was just behind her. “Sandor, put--”

She didn’t have to tell him. He lowered his pants and her lounge shorts in unison and guided the head of his cock just outside of her entrance. It sounded wet and it felt wetter when he ran the tip up and down between her folds, growling into her ear when he discovered the degree of her arousal. “Always so fucking wet, aren’t you?”

“For you,” she moaned. 

His length filled her gradually, stretching her walls with such steady satisfaction that it raised goosebumps on her skin and hardened her nipples. She dug her face into the couch cushion and bit down to suppress the urge to moan at the top of her lungs. As her satisfaction grew, Sansa found herself taking over and threw her ass back against Sandor underneath the blanket, moaning louder every time, growing careless of her sister hearing.

Sandor lifted the blanket up and moaned at the sight. “Gods, look at this sexy fucking ass.” The spank that followed was loud, too, and Sansa understood then that it was as good as futile for them to try to be quiet.

Upon the sight of her bouncing ass, Sandor wrapped one hand around her neck and used it to hold her down as he rammed his cock into her. The slight choking sensation due to his grip turned her on more than she thought it would; Sansa wanted more. 

“Choke me harder,” she begged. 

“Fuck,” Sandor moaned, as if the words alone would make him climax. “Say that again.”

“Choke me harder, Sandor.”

The massive hand clenched tighter, making it so she could just barely breathe. “Hard enough for you, girl?” he growled beside her ear, thrashing her with violent strokes that stole the little breath she had left.

She couldn’t respond other than whimper, placing her hand on top of the one squeezing her throat and becoming strangely aroused feeling like a victim. The more dangerous he felt, the harder she wanted him to fuck her. The grip on her throat grew even tighter when her walls clenched around his length, and the lack of air entering her lungs caused her vision to blur, making her feel as if she might pass out. Much like she enjoyed receiving the consensual abuse, Sandor seemed to enjoy giving it; never had he fucked her harder than in that moment, digging into her with a fiendish, bestial desire. 

Sansa was already on the verge of submitting to the euphoria that was building deep inside of her, but when Sandor spoke, the rush hit her so powerfully she thought she would pass out after all. “I fucking love you,” he confessed.

Just as she released, nearly crying from the warmth that streamed throughout her body, another warmth emerged inside of her. The combination of her orgasm and the hand that remained on her throat left her almost in a dreamlike state, cognizant of her surroundings but unable to freely move or speak. Sansa loved feeling him inside of her, loved feeling Sandor lose himself within her sex and the sensation of his semen filling her up.  _ I should have told him to pull out,  _ Sansa thought too late, knowing she had yet to get on birth control.  _ How can one passionate moment make the both of us so stupid?  _

  
“I’m sorry,” Sandor said, his breath quivering while he removed his hand from her throat. Seconds passed and she found herself being lulled to sleep by the white noise of the television until Sandor inhaled sharply. She may have been awake, but her eyes were closed when he spoke. “I’m so fucking sorry.” Sansa was so tired and lightheaded, the day impossibly long, that she couldn’t even manage to tell him that it was all right, that she would pick up a moon tea pill in the morning and it would be fine. All she could do was move her foot softly against his leg and be lulled to sleep. Somewhere in between consciousness and unconsciousness, laying snugly in his arms, Sansa realized that he was crying. “Little bird, I’m so sorry.” He kept saying it, again and again. It was all he said. “I’m sorry. I love you.”  _ It’s all right, Sandor,  _ she wanted to say.  _ I love you, too. _ And then she fell asleep.


	9. Chapter 9

“The sound of you moaning will haunt me until the day I die.”

“Can’t be worse than the sound of you not shutting the fuck up.”

Sansa opened her eyes to a softly lit living room, the sun’s first rays shining through the blinds and onto the cream-colored wall in front of her. In the kitchen stood her sister and Sandor, arguing as usual while Arya raided the fridge. Forgetting that she was nude from the waist down underneath the blanket, Sansa started to stand from the couch until she felt something trickle down her thigh and quickly sat back down. She peeked underneath the blanket and observed that it hadn’t been her moonblood like she feared, but something else. And then she remembered. _I need to get a moontea pill._

Remembering last night was like trying to remember a dream. Sansa recalled the winter roses, the cuddling, the sex, the choking, but after that, it was unclear to her what had been real and what had only been a dream. _I dreamt that he said he loved me. Or was that real? He was sorry for not pulling out -- he even cried. Or was that just a dream?_

“Good, you’re awake,” Arya said, jostling against Sandor in the kitchen before walking in front of the couch. “First, I’m never spending the night again if _he_ is here. Second, you should know that I looked at Harry’s Glass Candle profile this morning and he is back in the Vale.”

Sansa rubbed her eyes, not from sleep, but out of frustration that she would begin yet another day discussing Harrold Hardyng. “I don’t care, Arya.”

Arya squinched up her face. “What do you mean you don’t care? Aren’t you going to do something about what he did to your car?”

“What can I do? I called the front office and, conveniently, there’s no video evidence of him doing it. Besides, he’d hire a better lawyer than whoever Uncle Brynden would be able to afford if I took him to court,” Sansa sighed. “It’s not worth it.”

“So, what the fuck is going to stop him from doing it again?”

“He’d have to be a madman to come back around here,” Sandor chimed in as he sat beside Sansa, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “He knows what will happen if I see his wealthy face again.”

Arya scowled at him. “What are you? Some killer?”

“Enough, Arya.” _He has killed a man, but that’s not information I trust her knowing, not when she could tell Uncle Brynden the next time she’s angry with me._

“I have a bad feeling,” Arya muttered. “Why did he stay in the Crownlands yesterday?”

“The little shit likely went to get that nose of his I busted looked at,” he boasted.

“Why are you even here?” her sister asked. “Don’t you have a job?” 

“Arya!”

She regarded the both of them for a moment and then turned on her heel back towards the kitchen. “After I eat, I’ll leave.”

Sandor muttered a curse under his breath before kissing Sansa on the cheek. “How did you sleep, little bird?”

Once Arya was preoccupied with making herself breakfast, Sansa slipped on her shorts underneath the blanket and took Sandor’s hand, leading him towards her room and into the bathroom. Just when she shut and locked the door, Arya shouted, “Don’t you dare fuck my sister in there!”

“Are you all right?” she asked him.

Sandor looked confused. “Why wouldn’t I be, girl?”

 _I must have only dreamed that he was crying,_ Sansa thought. She decided not to mention that. “I thought I heard you say something last night, when we...”

“Say what?”

 _Oh, gods. Did he not say that he loves me either?_ “Nothing,” she smiled, hoping it would prevent her from breaking down into tears. “I need to take a shower.”

Sandor leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms, surveying her up and down with a trace of a smirk. “Go on.”

Sansa looked down at her feet and giggled. She even felt nervous. _How can I be nervous to shower in front of him after all that we’ve done?_ she wondered. Ignoring the sudden insecurity, she took off her thin, white tank top first, and then her satin pink sleep shorts. Her eyes had been on the floor during the strip show, but once she was nude, Sansa looked up at him and saw the scarred side of his mouth twitch. 

“Don’t mind me, little bird,” he said. “Take your shower.”

Somehow something as mundane as showering became erotic in his presence, even surpassing the thrill of having sex inside the breezeway and on the couch. Turning around towards the shower, Sansa bent over to turn the water on and looked over her shoulder enticingly. “You could join me.”

His eyes were fixed on her ass and on the folds visible between her thighs. “Get in.”

Sansa waited for the water to warm up before stepping in, leaving the shower curtain open for his viewing pleasure. The heated water was a welcome sensation on her sore neck; she couldn’t think of a time a shower felt so good. 

Once her hair was wet, Sansa combed it back with fingers and mustered up the courage to face the man whose eyes were hot against her skin, hotter than the water falling down on her. The steam from the shower clouded around him, making the moment not only erotic, but ethereal. As still at stone he stood there, arms crossed, indulging in the sight of her. Whether it was due to the steam or the eyes across from her just a few shades darker, Sansa found her breath becoming labored. Her breasts heaved up and down as she matched his gaze, feeling nearly as breathless as when he choked her. When she felt faint, Sansa lowered her eyes and noticed her ivory skin was blushed red where the water touched.

“I’d do anything for you, little bird,” his deep voice said in the thickening fog. “Do you know that?”

Sansa’s eyes lifted. _It’s not an ‘I love you’, but it’s just as sweet to the ear._ “Yes.” Her voice was a steamy breath.

“Tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“What you want me to do.”

 _I won’t survive having sex with him inside this bathroom,_ she thought. _I can hardly breathe as it is._ That didn’t stop her from saying, “Come closer.” 

In two long steps he stood in front of her, inches away from the water. As he shifted his eyes from one breast to the other, Sansa saw that he was clenching his hands at his sides. “Go on, tell me.”

“Touch me,” she nearly moaned.

“Where?”

“Everywhere.”

Sandor lifted his hand and grabbed one wet breast, visibly careless of the fact his arm was becoming soaked as he fondled it. While massaging her breasts with one hand, he placed the other between her thighs, slowly traveling up until his fingers were spreading her folds wide.

A loud, booming knock came at the door, and Sansa was immediately grateful she had locked it when Arya struggled with the doorknob. “Are you fucking kidding me?” her sister groused. “Come out here and get your hound from hell, you shit! He just ate the bacon I made right off my plate.”

“One more word out of you and you’ll never see that bloody needle of yours again!” 

If Arya responded, Sansa didn’t hear it, only the sound of footsteps stomping along the floor as she exited the room.

Sandor moved the hand on her breast to rest underneath her chin. He didn’t seize her jaw like she thought he would, nor did he choke her like she hoped, he only lifted her chin up so that he could look her dead in the eye. “Tell me, girl.” 

A thousand vulgar thoughts crossed her mind, but not one of them could make her forget what she thought she heard. “I want you to tell me what you said to me last night.”

The finger slipping inside of her entrance came to a sudden rest. “What I said?”

“Sandor...do you love me?”

He exhaled sharply and then started to laugh, removing his hands from her to wipe them slowly down his face. Sansa stood there puzzled, slightly shivering once the water dripping down her back grew cold.

“Aye, girl.” Sandor took her face in his large hands and kissed her as water droplets caught in his hair. “I do love you.” 

She felt like a girl again, a stupid little girl, blind in love. But she didn’t care. _He’s not Harry,_ Sansa thought. _He’d never betray me. Not ever._ “I love you, Sandor.”

He sounded as short of breath as Sansa when he pressed his forehead against hers. “Tell me.”

Sansa blindy reached for the shower handle and shut off the cold water. “Fuck me.”

The urgency with which he lifted her out of the shower and bent her over the sink left her more breathless than choking and steam alike. Sansa held onto the edge of the vanity while she waited for him to enter her from behind, but before he did, he wiped his hand up and down the foggy mirror until it was clear enough for her to observe herself in the submissive position, and him in the dominant.

“You’re going to watch me fuck you,” Sandor grunted, “and I’ll watch the pretty face you make when you come on me.”

He spanked her before entering, the water glossed over her ass making the sound and sensation sharper, harsher, and fiercer. Sansa couldn’t resist looking in the mirror, watching herself getting fucked by Sandor Clegane who met her gaze. Each time the mirror fogged back up, he would lean forward and wipe it clean so neither of them would miss a single moment. The same strange desire from last night returned while watching him take her from behind. Sansa wanted him to do it harder; she wanted him to be ruthless.

When she said, “Pull my hair,” not only did he do it, but he did it hard enough to make her cry out. When she asked him to choke her again, he did that, too, and gripped her tighter than he had the night before. All the while, Sansa watched him in the mirror and thought about how dangerous he looked, savoring the sight. And then she came. 

It was impossible for her to keep her eyes open then, preventing her from being able to see Sandor’s expression as he lost himself inside of her, coating the walls inside her sex with his semen once again. Upon the sounds of their intimacy quieting, Sansa could hear the television in the living room blasting on full volume.

“Get dressed, little bird,” he panted. “We need to get you that bloody pill.”

Just as Stranger started barking, Arya started shouting. “If you two are done fucking, there’s someone at the door!”

“Oh, gods,” Sansa cursed, grabbing her mauve robe from the hook. “Who is it?” she yelled.

“I don’t know!”

“Can’t you look?”

“I’m too short to reach the peeking thing!”

Sansa quickly exited the bathroom, scurried towards the front door, and put her eye to the peephole. To her immense surprise, it was her pretty classmate with her pretty, curly brown hair standing outside, knocking again while Sansa peered out.

After Sandor had let Stranger out onto the balcony when he wouldn’t calm down, he asked, “Who is it?” 

_I can’t_ **_not_ ** _answer...she will know I’m home after hearing Arya’s screaming._ Hoping that Elinor was not standing off somewhere to the side, Sansa hesitantly unlocked the door and opened it. “Margaery,” she greeted, making every effort to appear pleased rather than shocked. “How did you know where I live?”

Margaery Tyrell stepped forward and gave her a long, warm, affectionate hug, seemingly heedless of her wet hair. “I work in the Student Government office and looked in the directory. I know, I know -- I should have asked _you_ for your address on Glass Candle, but I wanted to surprise you! May I come in?”

Sansa looked over her shoulder and saw Arya and Sandor both standing along the wall with their arms folded. “Yes, of course.”

Margaery walked in wearing another one of her bright, flowy summer dresses and immediately gasped in delight when she saw the two standing in the living room. “Oh, hello!” Margaery said. “Sandor Clegane, I remember meeting you years ago when you worked for the Baratheons -- what a small world! Did Sansa tell you that Joffrey is in our history class?”

 _No, I never did,_ Sansa thought, wincing. 

Sandor regarded the Tyrell girl no longer than a second before shaking his head.

“So is my cousin Elinor,” Margaery added. Sansa looked over at Sandor upon the utterance of the name but he did not react. “And who might you be?” she asked Arya like she was speaking to a toddler.

Her little sister frowned. “I’m Arya Stark.”

“Of course you are,” Margaery smiled. “Sansa, since we do not have class today, what do you say we go out and explore the capital? I can have my father introduce you around, perhaps you can even meet Cersei Lannister. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

 _Fun to meet Cersei Lannister? The same woman who had my parents and brother killed? No, it will not be fun. But it might be the very thing I need to do to learn the truth of the rumor._ Without giving it any more thought, Sansa said, “Yes, I’d love that.”

“Great! Well, I’ll come back in about an hour to pick you up so you can get ready. Be sure to dress your best, Sansa.” And with that, Margaery gave a cordial smile to Sandor and Arya who both were utterly unimpressed and walked out the door. 

Arya looked to be deep in thought. “I’ve seen her before.”

“No, you haven’t,” said Sansa. “I’ve only just met her yesterday. How would you know her?”

Sandor eyed her warily from across the room. “A Tyrell?” he scoffed. “One day it’s been and you’ve befriended a bloody Tyrell? You’re going to the Red Keep with a bloody Tyrell?”

“What’s wrong with the Tyrells?” Arya asked.

“Liars and gossips, the whole lot of them.” He dropped his head towards the floor and shook it slowly. “Little bird, I don’t want to tell you what to do or who you should be friends with, but--”

“But you’re going to anyway?” her sister interrupted.

“Isn’t it past time you fuck off to the Riverlands?”

“My sister didn’t move to the Crownlands so you could get your dick wet all day! She _should_ go to the Red Keep! Even if it’s with a Martell!”

“Tyrell!”

“I don’t fucking care!”

Sansa took his hands in her own before he’d clout Arya on the head. “It’s all right, Sandor. I can take care of myself. Besides, it’s only for the day. Do you work this evening?”

He nodded his head.

“So you do have a job,” Arya mumbled. “At least you’re not a complete bum. Anyway, I need my sword back or else I’m not leaving.”

Rather than argue or spit an insult back like Sansa expected him to do, Sandor ignored her sister entirely and solemnly said, “I love you, little bird.”

Arya groaned and tossed open the front door. “Bye, Sansa! I’ll be out here waiting for my sword, you shit!” 

Saying goodbye to Sandor Clegane was always difficult, but that morning it was especially so. “I love you,” said Sansa. “I’ll call you when I’m home.” The kiss he gave her tasted as sad as he looked, but he never said another word. _Saying goodbye isn’t easy for him either,_ she thought.

Once he left with Stranger, Sansa picked up the winter roses that had been left beside the couch and placed them into a vase while her mind wandered in the sudden silence, concocting hundreds of different scenarios that might occur inside the Red Keep. She could think of nothing else, not while brushing her hair, nor when entering her closet to dress her best to meet the murderer of Eddard, Catelyn, and Robb Stark.


	10. Chapter 10

Sansa stood in the plush green grass in front of the Red Keep, staring at the road inside the gates where her father had parked his car five years ago. Her eyes focused on one spot of the road in particular; it spoke to her in a whisper, like a ghost. _It was there_ , she knew. _Right there is where they died._ She sniffled and turned away to face the Red Keep, a monstrous structure of red brick that served as the residence of the sitting president of Westeros. Staring at the building might have once excited her, but as she looked upon it that morning, all she could feel was anger, knowing that the woman seated inside the Iron Office was responsible for the ghosts speaking to her inside the gates.

As the valet drove off with Margaery’s car, she linked arms with Sansa and led her towards the entrance. “You’re going to love it here, Sansa. You may never want to leave!”

Just inside the two large golden doors stood a bigger man with curly brown hair whose eyes lit up at the sight of their entrance, his smile as jovial as Margaery’s. “There’s my little girl!”

Margaery quickly and prettily scurried forward and gave her father a hug. The embrace was so genuine and pure that Sansa felt awful for being skeptical of Margaery’s intentions bringing her there. ‘ _Liars and gossips’, that’s what Sandor said. I mustn't forget._ Even so, she nearly welled up in tears watching the father-daughter affection, the sight serving as a grim reminder of what she would never have again. 

“Father, this is my new friend Sansa Stark.”

Upon the introduction, Sansa swallowed the lump that had grown in her throat and came forward. Mace Tyrell smiled warmly when he took her hand, but rather than shake it as was proper, he held it in one hand and patted it with the other, like an old friend. “Welcome to the Red Keep, Sansa. I know it has been some time now since the passing of your parents and brother, but you have my deepest sympathy.”

The words sounded genuine, too. “Thank you, sir. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“You look very much like your mother.”

“She certainly does,” an unfamiliar voice chimed in. 

Sansa looked ahead down the vaulted corridor and watched as a middle-aged man with a pointed beard approached. His dark hair was streaked with grey and his eyes appeared to frown while his mouth was smiling. There was something about the man that made her shiver, uneasy.

“Sansa, this is Petyr Baelish,” Mace introduced. “He’s the Secretary of the Treasury.”

Petyr Baelish didn’t just take her hand, he kissed it. “The spitting image of Catelyn Stark. I grew up with your mother -- a wonderful woman. It was a dreadful loss when she died.”

His failure to mention her father and brother left her offended. “It’s nice to meet you,” Sansa lied.

“What’s the occasion for your visit?”

Margaery stepped in and took Sansa’s arm again. “Secretary Baelish, father, I was hoping to show Sansa around the Red Keep. Would that be all right?”

“I don’t see why not,” Mace Tyrell said.

“Be sure to stop by my office before you leave, Sansa,” Petyr Baelish added. “I’d love to share some stories about your mother.”

Though her stomach twisted in knots, she feigned a soft smile. “Of course.”

As Margaery led her down the corridor, their heels tapping loudly against the white marble floor and echoing above in the vaulted ceiling, she whispered, “Secretary Baelish is a known pervert.”

“Truly?” _Liars and gossips,_ she remembered.

“He owns an escort service. All the congressmen and senators come to him when they want to have fun…or when they need a vacation from their wives,” she giggled. “Oh! Let me introduce you to some of the officers.”

“Officers?”

Margaery led her down an adjoining hallway where two men stood, clad in white uniforms -- the same white uniforms Sansa had seen outside of Darkstars yesterday morning. And the same two men. _I promised Sandor I’d call him,_ she remembered. _Or was that only if I was alone?_

“Officer Trant, Officer Moore,” Margaery called out cheerfully. 

When the men turned around to look at the two young women, the pale eyes of the officer named Moore came to life for a fleeting second before he mumbled something to Officer Trant. 

“Ms. Tyrell,” the red-bearded man greeted. 

“Officers, this is my friend Sansa Stark. She’s Eddard and Catelyn’s daughter.”

Their eyes widened synchronously, but there was a humor in them, a gleam -- a secret. “Sansa Stark,” Officer Moore said. “The pleasure is all mine.”

 _They must recognize me,_ she thought. _And they must remember disrespecting me._ Rather than say anything at all, Sansa forced yet another a smile. 

“Likewise,” Meryn Trant smiled ugily. “Mandon, is Sir around?”

_There’s that name again. Who is Sir?_

“No,” he nearly sighed. “He just left.”

“That’s too bad. I know Sir would have liked to meet you. Where are you two ladies headed this morning?”

“To the Iron Office,” Margaery answered, almost flirtatiously. “It’s always nice to see you, officers.”

Once they were a safe enough distance away from the two muttering, chuckling men, Sansa whispered, “Margaery, do you know who Sir is?”

Margaery looked at her thoughtfully. “I have no idea.”

_Liars and gossips._

The corridors inside the Red Keep seemed to go on forever, and several minutes had passed before they reached the closed door of the Iron Office. As she stood there, her heart was beating through her chest erratically, not due to physical exertion, nor due to the awkward encounter between the two cruel-looking men, but due to the adrenaline flowing within her like the Trident, rapid and unrelenting. 

“Are you ready to meet our president?” Margaery asked softly.

Sansa nodded. Margaery knocked. And then the door opened.

It had been another officer who gestured for them to come inside, clad in all white and, unlike the others, rather handsome, but her eyes immediately shifted to the far end of the room.

Sitting inside the circular Iron Office, feet propped up leisurely on the large, iron presidential desk, was not Cersei Lannister, but someone just as blonde with eyes just as green.

Joffrey Baratheon raised an eyebrow. “Who’s this?”

Sansa had never seen Margaery other than jubilant, but just then, even she appeared staggered. “Joffrey...this is Sansa Stark.”

“ _Stark_?” He repeated the name with such disgust it bit like a curse. 

“She was hoping to meet your mother, is she around?”

Joffrey rolled his eyes and leaned back in the chair with his hands behind his head. “Mother left. And it’s a good thing, too. She wouldn’t want to meet the daughter of the people who had my father killed.”

“Excuse me?” Sansa blurted. “My parents and brother were assassinated before your father was shot.”

“Yes, and he was shot because some ungrateful, useless citizen of Westeros blamed him for your family being blown to shreds!”

Sansa would have walked right over there and slapped him in the face had Margaery not held tightly onto her hand.

“That is not her fault, Joffrey. Sansa grieves for her family the same as you grieve for your father.”

The president's son frowned and considered them for a moment. “Officer Oakheart, take Margaery around the gardens. I’d like a word alone with this Sansa Stark.”

Margaery’s grip grew tighter. “Joff--”

“Leave us!”

Sansa couldn’t believe the behavior he was displaying, and when she looked over at Margaery, it was apparent that neither could she. Nevertheless, she wore a smile as she departed with the officer named Oakheart, leaving her alone with the golden haired brat.

“Sit down,” he said curtly.

 _He’s not just a brat,_ Sansa thought. _He’s cruel. He’s corrupt._

Making every effort not to lose her composure, Sansa sat herself down into one of the two crimson velvet chairs in front of the iron forged desk.

As quick as a whip, he got to it. “You came here to ask my mother who killed your parents, didn’t you?”

Sansa knew she had passed the point of no return. And it made her dauntless. “Yes.”

“My mother wouldn’t know.”

“I think she would.”

“Why?”

“Because it was her.”

Joffrey’s feet fell from the desk. Sansa half-expected him to call in security and have her thrown out, but instead, he laughed. “You give my mother too much credit,” he said as he sat upright in the chair. “She’s not smart enough to plot an assassination.”

“It was her,” she said again, unwavering. “My father must have known something. And whatever it was, he told your father and it created a rift between the two. It’s public knowledge that they were at odds with one another when my family was killed, making your father appear suspect, even though he wasn’t! And then your mother hired someone to kill your father, winning her the sympathy of everyone across Westeros when she played the part of the grieving widow. She would never have been elected president otherwise. I know it, and you know it, too!”

The words had fallen from her, five years worth of remaining silent, five years worth of contemplating and wondering, hearing her Uncle Brynden’s hypotheses and suspicions, thinking of her own -- it all came out. And as Joffrey sat there, his fat lips quivering, Sansa knew that he knew. Yet he remained in denial.

“My mother never wanted my father to die,” he mumbled.

“But she wanted my parents dead?”

Joffrey shrugged. “Someone did. Someone hired him to plant the bomb.”

Sansa’s head was pounding fiercer than her heart. “ _Him_? You know who did it?”

“I don’t just know,” he said, “I saw.”

“Who?” her voice lost its vindictiveness. Sansa felt no older than a little girl.

“Why would I tell you? You must not know yet what he does to people. The truth dies as fast as the person speaking it.”

 _Elinor tried to tell me but Margaery wouldn’t let her. She said it was dangerous_. “Write it down.”

Joffrey chortled with contempt. “Why? So you can have proof that I told you? You’re even dumber than you look. I won’t tell you a name, but perhaps I can answer a question or two if you’re willing to….”

She suddenly felt very nauseous. “Willing to what?”

His frown had become a horror of a grin. “Will you be at Margaery’s party this weekend?”

“I haven’t decided.”

“If you go and have a few drinks with me, maybe I’ll find myself in good enough of a mood to entertain some of your questions.”

 _He won’t only be after a few drinks,_ she knew. Before Sansa could utter a response, her phone rang.

“Think about it,” Joffrey said. “Now get out.”

Sansa stood up from the gaudy chair and exited the Iron Office as apprehensive as she had entered it, yet all the more confused. She slid her thumb over the screen without registering who it was and took a deep breath.

“Hello?”

“Seven fucking hells!” her sister shouted on the other end followed by several cars honking. “Move the fuck over!” 

“Arya?” 

“I knew that she looked familiar! I fucking knew it!”

Sansa quickly walked down the corridor, hoping to find a private place to speak. “What are you talking about?”

“The first time I hacked into Harry’s Glass Candle account, I went through all of his pictures and shit. That’s where I saw her!”

“Who?”

“Margaery!”

Her heels skidded on the marble floor when she stopped in her place. Looking out the window just beside her, Sansa could see the road where her family died off in the distance. “Margaery?”

“Look at my text!”

Sansa held the phone away from her face and tapped on the picture message. The screen was too dark for her to see it clearly at first, but once she turned up the brightness, she fell back against the window. The image was a group photo of eight people wearing swimsuits beside a lake, and in the center stood Harry Hardyng with his arm wrapped around Margaery Tyrell’s waist.

 _Liars and gossips._ Her phone felt hot when she placed it against her cheek. “What is happening?” 

“That picture was posted a week ago, and Harry stayed in the Crownlands yesterday. Who do you think he was with?”

_Was bringing me to the Red Keep some sort of payback? Margaery has been nothing but kind to me here, unless whatever she had planned fell through. What if it had been Cersei sitting there…_

“Move, bitch!” Arya shouted after another car horn blared. “She’s going to sabotage you! Come outside.”

“Outside? Arya, where are you?”

The sound of brakes screeching seeped through the phone, and in unison, the same sound came from beside the window. As Sansa peered out through the glass, she discovered Uncle Brynden’s black sports car sitting beyond the gates of the Red Keep.

“I’m here.”

  
  


* * *

Sansa sat on her couch late that afternoon and composed a message on Glass Candle to Margaery Tyrell, explaining that her sudden absence was due to an emergency with her sister. _What Arya said about her might be true, but I can’t cut ties with Margaery...not yet. I have to go to that party. I have to know._

While Sansa worked on the lame excuse, Arya’s ringtone tore the air. 

“Hello?....I’m still at Sansa’s….Uncle Brynden, listen….can I stay through the weekend?.... _please?._...the first week of school is always slow, I’m not missing shit!....sorry, I mean I’m not missing anything….please!....because I really miss Sansa and I just want to spend some time with her….no, I’m not joking….she said it was fine….please let me stay, please, please, please….yes, I swear it….I mean it this time!....I swear it by the old gods and the new….thank you! I love you, too! Bye!” Arya put the phone down in her lap and smiled, accomplished and mischievous. “Well, since the Hound isn’t here, can we go get something to eat?”

Sansa stared at her sister in utter disbelief. _She can talk her way out of anything. That, and Uncle Brynden doesn’t have the patience to argue with someone as stubborn as he is._ “Arya, you can’t stay here through the weekend.”

“Why not?” 

_Because I have a party I need to go to and if you know about it you’ll show up and ruin everything._ “Because I have class tomorrow and I need to study.”

“Or because you’re too busy getting dicked down?”

A sudden sense of dread took over. Sansa gasped. “Oh, gods.”

“What? Too _vulgar_?”

“I never bought the moontea pill,” Sansa thought out loud. 

“Moontea--” Arya’s mouth gaped open. “You’re letting him nut in you?” 

“Seven hells, Arya. You really are too vulgar.”

“Are you _stupid_? What part of ‘don’t you dare get pregnant’ did you not understand?”

Sansa jumped off the couch and snatched Uncle Brynden’s car keys from the countertop, running towards the front door. “Shut up and get in the car.”

The sisters ran down the stairs with such urgency that Sansa nearly tumbled down the steps much like she almost did when she moved in just a few days ago. 

“Why the fuck didn’t he remind you?” Arya asked as she sat in the passenger seat.

Sansa aggressively threw the car into reverse. “Obviously he must have forgotten, too.”

“Or the Hound wants you to have his pups,” she mumbled, grabbing the sword from the backseat. “Looks like Margaery Tyrell isn’t the only one trying to sabotage you.”

In the span of a few minutes, Sansa parked, ran into the store, purchased a water and moontea pill, and sprinted back out to the car. As soon as she sat behind the wheel, she ripped open the packaging, placed the pill on her tongue and chugged the bottle until it was dry.

Her sister watched her all the while, chuckling. “Could you imagine Uncle Brynden’s face if he learned your neighbor got you pregnant your first week here?”

Sansa gasped for breath, waterlogged and exhausted. “That’s not funny.”

“Where does the Hound work? Drive over there so I can cross him off my list for trying to get you pregnant.”

Speaking without forethought, Sansa said, “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Arya cocked her head to the side. “You don’t know where he works but you let him nut in you?”

“Well, I never asked!”

“Maybe he’s a drug dealer.”

“Arya, shut up,” Sansa said as she drove off.

“Or a killer,” she mumbled, gripping the hilt of her sword. “He looks like a killer.”

  
  
  


* * *

  
  


By some miracle granted to her by the old gods, Sansa won the Game of Faces against her sister, allowing her the privilege of sleeping in her own bed that night.

Earlier in the evening, Sansa had called Sandor to let him know that she made it home but he never answered. Rather than continue to pester him at work, she decided to leave a voicemail instead, telling him that she’d leave the key to her apartment underneath the doormat so he could come inside when he got off work, no matter how late. And a couple of hours after midnight, he did, the quarrel that ensued startling her awake.

“What the fuck are you still doing here?!”

“What the fuck are you doing breaking into my sister’s apartment in the middle of the night?”

“I’m not breaking in, you little bitch! She told me to come over. Now give me that bloody sword!”

“No!”

Sansa leaped out of bed and opened the door, watching the scuffle take place inside the living room with an amused smile playing on her lips. “Sandor.”

It was all she needed to say to grab his attention. In the blink of an eye, Sandor had dropped Arya back onto her feet and snatched the sword from the ground on his way to her room. He shut the door abruptly once inside, tossing the sword somewhere in the darkness and grasping her arms with a sort of desperation. “What happened at the Red Keep?”

Having expected a kiss or an embrace, the hasty question left her flustered. “Nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me, little bird.”

He sounded so distressed that Sansa found herself unable to bring up the encounter with Joffrey, fearing it might make matters worse. _Or do I only fear that if he learns about Joffrey and the party he’ll not want me to go?_ “Margaery knows Harry.”

“ _Knows_? Or fucks?”

Sansa sighed. “Arya found a picture of them on Glass Candle…she’s convinced that he spoke to her and that Margaery was setting me up.”

“But nothing happened?” he asked again.

Her conscience was growing heavy. “No.”

“Who did you meet?”

 _Joffrey._ “Her father and a man named Petyr--”

“Littlefinger?” Sandor growled with disdain. 

“ _Littlefinger_?”

“Did that fucker touch you?”

 _Of course he knows his reputation_ , she thought _. Sandor worked there for years._ “Well, he kissed my hand.”

Sandor’s lingering silence was unsettling. _No, there’s no way I can mention Joffrey._ “Go on.”

Sansa winced once she thought of the two suspicious men. _It’s clear that Sandor knows them...if he doesn’t hear it from me, he might very well hear it from them._ “The officers we saw yesterday...I know I promised to call you, but I was with Margaery and--”

“They saw you?” he interrupted.

“She introduced me to them.”

That time his silence was accompanied by him tightening his grip on her arms, but not painfully so. “And Cersei?”

“She wasn’t there.” _But Joffrey was._

“Is that it?”

 _No._ “Yes.”

In the darkness of her room, he wrapped his arms around her waist and carried her onto the bed. Before she knew it, her shorts were off and just when she heard him struggling to take off his own pants, he remembered and paused. “Seven fucking bloody hells.”

Sansa knew without having to ask. “I took it,” she said. “Sandor, we--”

Arya pounded on the door. “I can hear the headboard hitting the wall! Stop sabotaging my sister in there!”

“What the fuck is she going on about?”

“The pill -- I almost forgot to take it.”

Sandor chuckled when he understood. “And if you got pregnant, I would have sabotaged you.” 

“Sandor, we’ve both been too…”

“Horny?”

Despite her anxieties, Sansa giggled. “Careless.”

He rolled over onto the bed and gently pulled her to lay against him. “Aye, you’re right, little bird. And so is your bloody sister. How long is she going to be a pain in the ass?”

Nuzzling him was a comfort she’d never grow accustomed to. “She convinced our uncle to let her stay through the weekend.”

“Through the bloody weekend?!” he boomed. 

Outside the door, Sansa could hear the faint sound of Arya chuckling. “Would you mind keeping an eye on her tomorrow while I’m in class?”

“As long as you promise to let me know if that blonde cunt tries to talk to you.”

Sansa thought she might become sick with guilt. _If I tell him, he’ll only worry._ “Who?”

“Don’t think I didn’t hear that bloody Tyrell girl mention Joffrey being in your class; he’s a sadistic, lying little shit. Trust me, girl, you’d do well to stay away from him.”

“I can handle Margaery,” she said defensively. “And Joffrey, too, if need be.” 

Sandor took a slow, thoughtful breath. “I know you can, little bird.” 

After he placed a tender kiss on her forehead, Sansa considered telling him. She would have told him about meeting Joffrey, that he had confessed to seeing who planted the bomb, but then she felt the tension in Sandor’s muscles ease, listened to the sounds of his breath becoming even, and couldn’t bring herself to distress him again.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a non-con kiss in this chapter and the angst is real, but peep the happy ending tag. We'll get through this. Thanks for reading!

_We’re not loud enough,_ Sansa thought. _Arya won’t leave before tonight unless we’re louder._

“Oh, fuck my pussy, Sandor!” 

“Bloody hell,” he groaned, pumping into her fiercer from behind. “You’re so fucking sexy.”

“Don’t stop!” Sansa threw her ass back to make the sounds of their bodies hitting louder than the television blasting in the living room. “Fuck me harder!”

Sandor grunted when he removed his cock and fell onto the bed, pulling her on top to ride him. “Keep talking like this, girl, and I’ll never leave.”

Sansa’s laugh was humored, breathless...and nervous. _No, you have to leave,_ she thought, sensually circling her hips atop his length. _And so does Arya. I have a party to go to._

“Gods, look at you,” Sandor growled, squeezing onto her breasts. “I’d fucking kill and die for you.”

Relying on the promise that her new birth control was ninety-nine point nine percent effective, Sansa was eager to feel Sandor come inside of her again. Although it had only been three days since she last felt the sensation, the deprivation was unlike anything else.

_A week ago we met as neighbors. And a week later, I’ve never been closer to anyone in my entire life._

In public, Sansa always acted the part of a proper young woman, but around Sandor, she was something else entirely. The mere scent of him awoke fantasies she could have never fathomed before, and his touch sparked the most desperate of desires, one that made her wonder if perhaps she _would_ have his children someday…if she’d even marry him.

The thought lit a fire within her, an intimacy, profound and blazing. She sped up her rhythm and trailed her hands down his chest. “I love you, Sandor,” she said, the utterance far more organic than the dirty phrases she screamed, “so much.”

Sandor growled so guttural she could feel it radiate against her thighs. “I fucking love the fuck out of you, little bird.”

The words pleasured her as much as the cock inside of her, and when she couldn’t take the steady circling motions any longer, Sansa transitioned to bouncing on top of him and reached back with one hand to fondle his balls. 

He threw his head back against the pillow at the touch, the sight of him holding his breath so he wouldn’t come pushing Sansa to finally give in to her own release. Pressing her hands against his muscled chest, Sansa dropped her head and cried out with pleasure as she climaxed while Sandor took control by grabbing onto her hips, lifting her up and down aggressively until his warmth filled her once again. 

Afterwards when Sansa opened the door to her bedroom, she thought her ears might bleed. “Arya, turn that down!”

Arya quickly dropped her phone and punched the power button on the remote, slamming it down onto the couch. “That’s it! I’m leaving!”

_Thank the gods, old and new._

“Leaving? Now? Why?” Sansa asked innocently.

“Because when this shit comes back tonight, I’ll have to suffer listening to you two AGAIN. I tried going out onto the balcony, but I could hear his _disgusting_ moaning as clear as fucking day through the window! I’m done!”

“The balcony...” Sandor muttered thoughtfully, filling a glass of water from the kitchen sink and emptying it in one swig. “Good idea, she-wolf. Think I might take your sister out there later tonight.”

Arya jumped up from the couch and unsuccessfully tried to knock the glass from his hand. Stranger sat up beside the front door and started barking at her. “I hate you! You’re fucking disgusting! Give me back my sword!” 

“I’ll give it to you once you sit in that bloody car and leave. I’m not about to hand it to you now so you can hold it at my throat when I walk through the door.” 

Before her sister could tear open the drawer where her kitchen knives were located, Sandor stood in front of it to block her way.

Sansa squeezed past them and replaced the water in the vase containing the winter roses, as healthy and lively as they had been the night Sandor bought them for her. “Arya, if you’re going to leave, you better go now so it’s not late when you get home.”

Her little sister stared at her, dubious and strange. “Oh, now you want me to go?”

“No, I just don’t want to get a call from you later and be forced to listen to you complain about how you should have left earlier. You know how Uncle Brynden is about curfew; he’ll make you sleep in the car if you get back too late.” Sansa hated having to lie. _After tonight, once I learn who it was Joffrey saw that day, I’ll never lie to her again, nor Sandor._

“I was hoping we’d fuck up Harry and Margaery before I needed to go,” Arya mumbled.

“I told you, Margaery never said anything about it in class and I haven’t heard a word from Harry either.” At least that hadn’t been a lie. The day following her hasty escape from the Red Keep, Margaery sat beside her in class with a hug and a smile and never made mention of it. However, now that Sansa thought about it, that seemed all the more suspicious to her than if Margaery had acted upset. Nevertheless, Sansa was still invited to the party that would take place on campus that night, and with her car now repaired and available, she wouldn’t need to rely on anyone other than herself going to and from the party. _I’ll go, pretend to drink with Joffrey, wait for him to become drunk enough to unknowingly tell me the name, and come home…all before Sandor gets off of work._

Each time Sansa repeated the plan, the more stupid and dangerous it sounded. And the more of a betrayal it seemed.

“Well, they’re both still on my list,” her sister grumbled. “And so are you, _Hound_.”

Sandor snorted. “Bugger your list. You’re not going to kill one bloody soul.”

“I’ll kill who killed my family,” Arya promised. “I’ll slice my sword across their throat and laugh while they bleed out at my feet.”

“Seven hells, Arya,” Sansa said, although the thought of her family’s killer dying gruesomely was oddly pleasant, even for her.

Sandor placed the glass down softly on top of the counter and leaned down for a kiss. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, little bird.”

“Where do you even work?” Arya snapped.

“Around the capital,” Sandor said.

“What the fuck? That’s not an answer.”

“It is for a she-wolf who is about to get her sword back. Now shut your bloody mouth or I won’t give it back to you at all.”

Arya cursed quietly to herself and then stepped towards her sister. “Sansa...thanks for letting me stay.”

Sansa reached out to hug her. The sisters never had a close relationship while growing up, but something about living apart made their bond stronger. _I wish I didn’t have to lie to her…I wish I didn’t have to lie to him._

“I love you, sister,” said Sansa. “Remember, go straight home.”

“Love you, too,” Arya sighed, but Sansa caught the trace of a smile as she turned around towards the door. “Well, come on, _Hound_. Get my fucking sword!”

Sandor swatted the back of her head. “Watch your bloody mouth!” 

When Sansa giggled, his grey eyes took one last glance at her before departing; her conscience demanded that she tell him the truth, but her determination to seek justice for her family’s death thwarted her from doing so.

“The balcony,” he called out to Sansa as he walked out the door, “and that pink toy of yours!”

“Ew!” she heard Arya shout.

Once the door closed shut, Stranger walked over to her and placed his nose into her hand, prompting her to pet him. When she knelt down to rub his black fur, his dark, brown eyes looked at her knowingly, pleadingly. 

“I must go,” she whispered. “I must.”  
  


* * *

The music could be heard even from out in the parking lot, bass heavy and profane.

“Sansa! You look so hot!”

Sansa had never seen the Crownland University dorms before that night, but they were large, even bigger than the size of her one bedroom apartment. It was an hour before midnight when she arrived, wearing the same flowy, red dress she had worn when she went on a date with Sandor. _If Joffrey likes what he sees, perhaps he’ll be less stubborn when answering my questions,_ she thought. _Or perhaps he’ll only become more inclined to have more than a few drinks…_

Despite the red lace fitting snugly on her breasts, she was dressed far more appropriately than many of the other girls in attendance, namely Margaery and Elinor who wore nearly sheer crop tops and shorts so short they may as well have worn panties instead. 

After welcoming Sansa with a big hug, Margaery handed her a red plastic cup with a shot of what smelled like golden whiskey from the arbor. _Uncle Brynden’s favorite...and Sandor’s, too._ The reminder made her sad, knowing she shouldn't even be there, knowing she was lying to him. 

“To a night we’ll never remember with the friends we’ll never forget,” the brunette toasted loudly with a frisky smile. 

Standing just behind Margaery, Elinor looked up briefly from her phone and gave her the slightest of smiles, and in unison, the three girls took the shot. The whiskey was stronger than anything Sansa had ever tasted, the tang on her tongue repulsive and overwhelming. _I can’t become drunk before I speak to Joffrey. I can’t become drunk at all, or else I’ll never be able to drive home. And if I can’t drive home…_

“So, how are things with you and Sandor Clegane?”

In order to be heard over the heavy bass, one must shout. And just then, it wasn’t only Sansa who heard the question. Several others beside them in the kitchen gave her a curious look, and Elinor glanced away from her phone like she had seen a ghost again.

“We’re doing well,” Sansa answered. 

“Did he drive you here?”

 _He doesn’t know I’m here._ “No, I drove myself.”

“Well then, if you drink too much, you are more than welcome to stay the night. A few others will be,” she said with a wink. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to play the part of the good host.” Margaery gave her a kiss on the cheek and poured herself another shot, squeezing her way through the growing crowd to greet the others.

“Sansa,” Elinor said, placing her phone in her back pocket. “Do you want to go out onto the balcony? There’s a lovely view of the capital from here.”

She was clever enough to know that Elinor was merely wanting to get away from the many eyes and ears beside them. _If she tells me that rumor she heard, perhaps I’ll never have to speak with Joffrey._ “Of course.”

Elinor poured the two of them a cupful of sweet arbor red and led her through the chaotic clamor of booming speakers and shouting partygoers to step out onto the large balcony. A few young men were smoking in the corner, but Elinor paid them no mind. Instead, she rested her arms on the railing to survey the view, waiting for Sansa to join her. 

“Where do you think he is right now?” asked Elinor.

“Who?”

“Sandor Clegane.”

Sansa looked away from the seemingly thousands of lights glittering ahead, the monstrosity of the Red Keep visible off in the distance, and regarded her. “What?”

Elinor met her gaze, her big brown doe-eyes spelling out something Sansa could not comprehend. “Five years ago when I was just thirteen years old, Margaery and I visited the Red Keep. We were so excited, we ran throughout the building giggling like a couple of pretty little fools, but then I got lost. Somehow I ended up in the very back and exited outside underneath an awning, shaded from the sun. It was dark under there _—_ dark enough where I couldn’t be seen. And that’s where I saw him. Your...boyfriend broke a man’s neck right there. I saw it, Sansa. I heard the sound the man’s spine made when it…” 

As Elinor fought back tears, Sansa found herself abnormally unsurprised. _I already knew that Sandor killed a man…he admitted to it. But I never did learn why. And I never learned who._

“Do you know who it was?” 

The Tyrell girl sniffled and looked at her warily, as if she were expecting Sansa’s response to be more dramatic. “An officer.”

“An officer?” _It had to be self-defense,_ Sansa thought, remembering the bullet wound on his shoulder. _But Sandor said that happened_ **_after_ ** _he left the Red Keep…_

“The man he killed wore a white uniform…I never knew who it was. I ran away and cried and told no one except Margaery. But Sansa, it’s not just that.” Elinor looked over her shoulder at the men smoking behind them and leaned in closer to whisper. “His _—”_

“Sansa,” a voice called out behind her. 

The plastic cup she had been holding fell over the railing and plummeted several stories down until it splattered on the sidewalk, the impact naught but a faint whisper amongst music, shouting, coughing, and Harry Hardyng’s voice. 

In a flash, Sansa spun around and slapped him across the face. He grimaced afterwards and clutched his nose, the bruising underneath his eyes from the injury he sustained from being kicked off the stairs noticeable, even underneath the midnight sky.

“You destroyed my car!”

“Oh shit!” a red-haired smoker shouted, laughing uncontrollably.

Harry grabbed her arm and shushed her, and before she knew it, Elinor was scurrying off to go back inside. 

“I didn’t do anything,” Harry hissed. “You were lied to.”

“Lied to? I saw it!”

When the smokers in the corner continued to mutter to one another, cackling and as high as anyone could be, Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, tossing them a handful of cash. 

“If you gentlemen want more, give us privacy and make sure no one else comes out here.”

The three clumsily collected up the cash and left the balcony quicker than the slap Sansa had given her ex, leaving her alone to speak with the wrong blonde idiot for the night.

“I can’t believe you.” Sansa pulled away from his grasp and paced back until she bumped into the railing.

“I don’t know what happened to your car, Sansa, but I didn’t do anything to it.”

“You’re awful. You were there the day my uncle bought it for me, and then months later, you vandalize it!”

Harry leaned against the balcony, his expression smug even when bruised. “Me? Or that neighbor of yours?”

“My neighbor was the one who went out of his way to fix it!”

“You were always so smart,” he sighed. “It’s almost depressing watching you become stupid over some...thug.”

Sansa’s hand itched to slap him again. “Stop calling him that.”

“You’ve known him for what? One week? Yet you’re defending him like you love him.” When she did not deny it, Harry’s condescending laughter rang in the cool night air. “You beautiful lackwit. How convenient that your car is fixed by the same thug who threatened to _kill_ me if I talk to you. I’ve never once been abusive towards you, but you think it was me who wrecked your car?”

“Maybe not physically, but you’ve been abusive to me in other ways _—_ cheating on me, calling me a slut. That’s what you wrote on my car!”

“And your thug of a neighbor heard me call you a slut! What a perfect thing to write on it to make you think that it was me! I’m sure he loved looking like a hero.”

Sansa was silent for a moment, but refused to consider such an accusation and changed the subject. “So, you and Margaery?”

“What about us?” 

“I saw the picture of you two together from a couple of weeks ago.”

“And? We’re friends. I’ve never slept with her if that’s what you’re insinuating. Everyone here knows she’s interested in Joffrey Baratheon.”

“But you were with her when you stayed in the Crownlands.”

Harry squinted at her curiously. “How did you know I stayed in the Crownlands?”

 _Because my little sister hacked into your Glass Candle account. If only she would have hacked into it before I pushed her away to leave._ “Forget it,” Sansa mumbled, knowing she was playing with fire.

“Are you jealous?” 

“Excuse me?” 

Harry stepped forward. “Are you jealous of me spending time with Margaery?” There was a superior grin on his face and Sansa had to force her arms to her sides so she wouldn’t push him off the balcony.

“No!” she spat much like Arya would have done. “I just don’t trust you.”

“Gods, Sansa, you’re so sexy when you’re angry. Come here.” He did not have to be as strong as Sandor Clegane to pull her into an embrace and press his lips onto hers, but she didn’t have to be as strong as him to squeeze his injured nose and run away towards the door.

The dorm room was now dark and overwhelmingly crowded, each of her senses hindered by the strobing lights, smoky atmosphere, and booming music. Sansa couldn’t think, she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t see, she couldn’t feel the bodies she pushed against nor did she feel the comparative chill once she stumbled out the front door. There were people even on the stairwell, some making out shamelessly while others vomited over the railing. Sansa descended the steps as fast as her feet would let her and muttered a prayer to the old gods that Harry Hardyng was not following behind her. _The only opportunity I had to learn the truth…ruined._

When she reached the ground, Sansa continued her quick pace and cut the corner around the building and towards the parking lot. But right when she approached the gates, an obnoxiously loud group entered, and underneath the lamp-post, Sansa witnessed hair shining like spun gold. 

Joffrey Baratheon spotted her auburn hair softly blowing about her face just as quickly, and it did not take longer than a second for her to discern that he was already inebriated.

The golden-haired, ill-tempered son of Cersei Lannister halted. “Leaving already, Stark?”

 _I can’t go back to the party…not with Harry there._ “I’m…not fond of large crowds.”

Joffrey smirked, drunk and ugly. “There’s not a large crowd in the backseat of my car.”

“I have a boyfriend,” she blurted.

A few of his friends laughed, but Joffrey only scowled. “So? Margaery is practically my girlfriend. I won’t tell if you don’t.”

“I _—_ ”

“Don’t you want to know what I saw that day?” 

_Yes, but at what cost?_ “Can’t you just be kind and tell me?”

Everyone laughed that time, including Joffrey. “Come to my car. Frey, tell Margaery I’m still on my way.”

When he turned around towards the parking lot, Sansa felt as if she had no choice but to follow him. ‘ _A lying, sadistic little shit’, that’s what Sandor said. How can I even trust what Joffrey says?_ Still, desperate for an answer to the question she’d been pondering for years, she followed.

Joffrey’s car was crimson, sleek, and undoubtedly expensive. She sat in the passenger seat reluctantly, noticing the remains of a white powdery substance on the dashboard. _He’s not drunk, he’s high,_ Sansa realized. _Or perhaps he’s both._

He plopped down into the driver's seat and reclined until he was almost laying flat on his back. Sansa kept her hand on the door handle, anticipating a quick departure at any given moment. 

“Lean over here and kiss me, then I’ll answer a question,” he said, grinning with his ugly green eyes closed.

 _I will not. I can not._ “I already told you….I have a boyfriend.” 

“And yet, here you are sitting inside my car. I can handle an angry boyfriend. Yours wouldn’t be the first.”

 _If you knew who my boyfriend was, you’d toss me out of your car yourself._ “Please, I _—_ ”

“Kiss me in five seconds or I’ll never tell you what I saw.”

As he began to count down with his eyes still closed, his mind still drunk or high or both, Sansa placed two fingers on her mouth, quietly spit, and then placed them onto his lips. After she removed them, she held her face an inch away from his, hoping he was intoxicated enough to believe they were her lips.

He opened his eyes and frowned. “That was horrible.”

“I’m sorry, I’m not very good.”

“No, you’re not.” Joffrey wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “I pity your boyfriend.”

Sansa pulled her face away and sat back in the passenger seat. “I kissed you. You said you would answer a question.”

Joffrey slumped into the chair with one hand on his forehead, visibly irked. “I’ll answer _one_.”

“Who was it?”

“I told you, bitch,” he slurred. She could tell that the powder he consumed on the dashboard was beginning to creep up on him. “No names.”

 _I’ll have to be more subtle to have him answer that,_ she thought. “Can you describe what he looks like then?”

“Let me think.” Joffrey tapped his finger against his chin. “Large.”

When he left it at that, she said, “That’s not very specific.”

“Hmmm….strong…tall.” 

Large and strong and tall was not specific enough to bring her closer to singling out a perpetrator. _The Umbers are large and strong and tall — what am I to do? Accuse them?_ Frustrated with herself and her poor decisions, Sansa tossed her head back against the seat. _What did I expect from a self-satisfied, spoiled child? He’s no less smug than Harry, he’s—_

“Dark-haired.”

Sansa’s hand hovered over the golden door handle while her mind worked on fitting pieces together. _What was it that Elinor was going to tell me…_ “Dark-haired?” 

Joffrey gave her a quick side eye. “What are you, deaf?”

“What color eyes?” _Not grey,_ she prayed in silence. _Blue, green, brown, violet...anything but grey._

“Who do I look like to you? Loras Tyrell? I don’t stare at men’s eyes.”

A silence came about, as did an idea in her head. It was clever, and he was drunk, so Sansa innocently said, “I’m sorry, what color did you say his hair was again? I forgot.”

“Dumb slut,” he cursed through gritted teeth. “Dark.”

“And short?”

“Tall!”

“And you said he lives in the Stormlands?”

“No, the Crownlands!”

“And his name?”

“Clegane, you stupid bitch!”

The interior of the car spun worse than if she had been drunk or high. She sat there and stared ahead at a horrified Joffrey, unbreathing. The initial numbness that developed in her arms subsided, replaced by pins and needles that trailed up her neck and onto her face where she could hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears as her blood burned like acid coursing through her veins. 

Joffrey shot up from his reclined seat, his golden hair an unkempt mess about his face. “You didn’t fucking hear that,” Joffrey said, his eyes wide, his voice quivering, his mind suddenly sober. “Say one fucking word and he’ll kill us both.”

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Driving her car just then felt like moving a mountain. 

The tears waited to fall until she was driving, robbing Sansa of her vision worse than the initial panic of learning the truth. Thoughts scattered, all she could think about was how dangerous Sandor Clegane looked, how much she loved it, and how twisted it was fantasizing of being a victim to the same man responsible for her parents and brother’s death. _He said I’d never stay...he said he killed who he had to...my family. And that night, when he told me he was sorry, when he cried..._

Hyperventilating, sobbing, and shivering, Sansa drove her car forward in the earliest of mornings with no destination in mind. Several times she veered off onto the side of the road and turned onto intersecting roads, hoping to avoid other vehicles in her current state. After some unknown time, she ended up on an empty street surrounded by tall trees on either side, and behind her, a siren screamed, followed by her rearview mirror reflecting flashing red lights. 

Sansa would have cursed if she hadn’t been struggling to breathe, struggling worse than the times she begged Sandor Clegane to choke her. Disgusted with herself, she slammed her hand against the steering wheel and wept as she submitted to the police car behind her and pulled over. Knowing what was expected of her, she took out her license from her purse and let her head fall against the center of the wheel, rolling down her window with the blind push of a button as she awaited the officer.

The footsteps were slow and heavy coming from the open window. It reminded her of Sandor Clegane, and that made her weep harder. The steps eventually stopped beside her door, and without taking a single glance at the officer, Sansa held her license out the window. The hand that grabbed it was also heavy, like Sandor’s, but larger once she felt the coarse fingers touch her skin.

Sansa tilted her forehead on the steering wheel to survey the man. All that was visible from the window was a white uniform, now beet-red in the flashing lights, and the body wearing it larger than any she’d ever seen. 

“Out.” The massive officer’s voice was unnaturally deep, resonating in the air like a large boulder crashing against the earth.

She didn’t have the chance to turn off her car before the officer ripped open the door and pulled her out from it with a cruel urgency. It only occurred to her then that she never did put on her seatbelt. 

The red hue touched everything, every tree, every branch, every inch of the pavement beneath her feet, creating an almost hellish ambience. Her jaw quivered as if it were freezing outside, but she couldn’t tell if it was from the ominous situation she was in or the aftermath of learning that her neighbor, the man she loved, assisted in the murder of her family. Sansa pressed her back against the car, awaiting instructions to walk in a straight line or stand on one foot; she wasn’t drunk, but she knew she would fail the test either way. 

Her phone was still inside her car when it began to ring. Just like the officer had perversely pulled her out, he reached into the open door and grabbed the phone from her seat, producing a grotesque sound when he looked at the screen. It took her a minute to realize that the officer was laughing, if one could even call it that.

Sansa couldn’t believe her eyes when she saw him answer it, but was left incapable of voicing a defiant word.

The officer put the call on speaker. “Sansa, where are you?” The man she loved asked, the man who set the explosive that stole three Starks from the world. _He knows that I know,_ she thought in a daze, staring at the phone in the giant hand. _Will he kill me, too?_ “Sansa?!” 

The officer’s inhale was as thunderous as his footsteps, as rumbling as his voice. “She’s with me, brother.”

_Brother?_

Sansa’s eyes lifted, slow and cautious, shifting from the large hand and onto the man’s face for the very first time. She met his monstrous gaze and discovered that had the red light not filled the air, his eyes might appear grey. And when she looked up an inch further, she saw that his hair was dark. That’s when it hit her all at once. _It wasn’t Sandor,_ she realized, staring at the other Clegane. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up: there's a tiny bit of attempted rape in this chapter. What do you expect with Gregor Clegane? Hope you enjoy this update!

Her phone screen shattered into a hundred meandering cracks with one squeeze of his hand. It dropped onto the jet-black pavement after that, and once he stepped on it with his foot, the phone all but cried as it was being pressed flat against the road underneath the weight of four men. 

Sansa looked up at him and, in the same breath, she ran. 

Her feet hit the pavement twice before a hand seized her arm like a steel clamp and yanked her back around into his chest. A cry escaped Sansa when he squeezed harder, and just when she thought her bone would shatter much like her phone screen had done in his hand, he removed his grip. The relief lasted less than a second when he wrapped his arm around her waist with her arms pinned to her sides. Locked in his iron grip, Sansa could only move her head and watched him grab the mic on his shoulder.

“Trant.”

Not a second passed before an answer came over the speaker. “Sir?”

_ He’s Sir,  _ she realized.  _ Sandor’s brother. _

“Come to the road beside the Kingswood with Blount. I’ve got my brother’s whore. The two of you will dispose of her car while I dispose of her.”

Sansa’s blood ran ice cold.  _ Dispose?  _ Fighting in his grip was like pressing against the brick walls inside the Red Keep. All the effort resulted in was her whimpering and crying, noticeably arousing the sadistic man in front of her, and the one on the mic.

“On our way,” Meryn Trant said with glee in his voice. 

The hand that held the mic lowered and Sansa thought her jaw might break when he lifted up her face. “The Hound,” he said laughing, though neither his mouth nor his eyes revealed humor. It was only the same grotesque noise she heard before when Sandor had called her. “What do you think they call me?”

She would have said Sir if she had the ability to move her mouth to speak. With the unforgiving hold on her jaw, she could only look in his eyes, grey eyes like Sandor’s, yet haunting, bleeding in the red light.

“The Mountain.”

_ The game,  _ she remembered.  _ Sandor took the Cyvasse controller from Arya when she was playing the Mountain.  _

A bright white light shone on his face just then, drowning out the red.  _ Headlights,  _ Sansa realized.  _ A car… Sandor. He has come for me.  _ Hoping the Mountain would be distracted by the oncoming vehicle, Sansa struggled to free herself from his grasp but it remained futile. Without taking so much as a glance ahead, he dropped his hand from her jaw, pulled the pistol from his belt, and began shooting with one hand on the grip while the other remained wrapped around her waist. She couldn't turn her head far enough to observe Sandor’s truck and could only listen to the piercing sounds of tires skidding on the road followed by what could only be a tire erupting from a well-placed bullet. Another shot fired, shattering a window, followed by the nauseating, terrible sound of the vehicle crashing into one of the many nearby trees. And then, silence.

“Sandor!” she cried out.

Before the name of the man she loved could finish escaping her, the Mountain flung her onto the hood of his car, knocking the little breath she had left in her lungs. Out of the corner of her eye, Sansa watched him lay the smoking pistol atop the edge of the hood.  _ I need to reach it,  _ she told herself, but froze once she heard the Mountain remove his belt. 

Just when she started to pray a silent prayer to the old gods, her father, her mother, Robb, and Sandor, Sansa listened to the sound of metal skidding against metal, a guttural, pained grunt escaping the beast in front of her, and a deafening gunshot.

A hand grabbed hers. It was not Sandor’s, but a small hand, pulling her off the hood.

The voice was muddled and her ears were ringing from the bullet escaping the pistols’s chamber, but Sansa could hear her little sister all the same. “Get in the fucking car!” 

Hand-in-hand the sister’s ran to the sanctuary of her white hatchback. Sansa jumped into the driver’s seat and the second that Arya sat beside her she slammed her foot against the pedal and accelerated forward, the engine bellowing in the process.

Gasping for air, Sansa said, “Arya, how are you here? I thought you left!” 

“That doesn’t matter! Who the fuck was that?!”

“He….he’s the one who planted the bomb in father’s car,” Sansa said in between sharp breaths.

Arya kicked the dashboard so hard that Sansa thought the airbag might explode. “Seven hells! I should have sliced him again! I should have shot him in the fucking head! Did you get his name?”

Deciding on a whim to wait to reveal that he was Sandor’s brother, she said, “The Mountain.”

Arya wiped the blood from her sword using her shirt, as casually as a seasoned killer.  _ My little sister stabbed a man…my little sister shot a man.  _ “The Mountain? What the fuck? I played someone named the Mountain on the Hound’s game.”

“I know,” Sansa took a sharp left turn, her hands shaking uncontrollably on the steering wheel. “Give me your phone. I need to call Sandor.”

Her sister pulled the phone from her back pocket and unlocked it with one swipe. Even her hands were shaking. “Do you even know his number?”

“Of course I do.”

“Who memorizes phone numbers anymore?”

“Just give me the phone!” Sansa leaned over to grab it from her hand, nearly veering off the road in the failed attempt.

“You’re driving, stupid!” Arya shouted. “Just tell me his number!”

Before she would end up crashing into the car beside her, she submitted and gave Arya his number. As soon as she watched her sister dial it, Sansa successfully snatched it away from her hand and placed it to her ear, trembling.

“Seven hells…Uncle Brynden’s car. I hope he doesn’t give a shit about that once we tell him we know who killed mother, father, and Robb,” Arya muttered. “Unless he already knows.”

When the call went straight to voicemail, the phone fell from Sansa’s hand and into her lap. “Oh gods, his phone is off. Why is his phone off?”

“When did you last talk to him?”

“He called me right after the Mountain took me out of my car. Sandor heard I was with him right before my phone was destroyed.” 

It was evident in Arya’s tone that she was becoming suspicious. “The Hound must know him personally if he hated him so much on that  _ stupid _ game.”

_ They’re brothers,  _ Sansa wanted to say, but again, decided to wait. Squinting at the road signs ahead, disoriented, Sansa said, “Put my address in your phone— I’m lost.”

Arya grabbed the phone from her lap and pulled up the directions. “We’re four minutes away. Take a right at this next light.” Her sister’s voice was calm, eerily so. Sansa glanced over and observed her staring out the window, softly muttering, “The Mountain,” as if it were a prayer. 

_ She’s adding him to her list. _

In the late hour of the night, Sansa drove into the apartment complex and couldn’t believe her eyes when she saw Sandor’s truck parked beside the building.  _ Did he not come looking for me?  _ Slamming the gear shift into park, Sansa jolted out of the door and ran up the stairs with Arya no less than two steps behind. 

Inside the breezeway, seated outside the door with his elbows resting on his knees, head hanging towards the ground, was Sandor Clegane. And in his right hand, the Valyrian handgun from his nightstand. For a fleeting second Sansa thought he was dead and almost screamed at the top of her lungs until he looked up slowly, staring at her as if she was the one who was a ghost. 

“How,” he said. His voice was rough and ragged.  _ He’s been shouting,  _ Sansa thought.  _ Or he’s been crying.  _ It made sense to her then why he had not come.  _ He knows his brother…he thought I’d be dead. _

Sansa knelt down beside him, brushing the hair out of his face. Inside her apartment, she could hear Stranger whining and scratching at the door. “Sandor, what are you doing out here?”

“How?” he asked again, stunned and disbelieving.

“Arya,” she said, still unsure of how it was possible herself. “She was there.”

“I shot the Mountain,” her little sister boasted, twirling her sword in her hand. “And slit his calf. All while you were sitting here on your ass, letting my sister be manhandled by that same shit who killed our family!”

Sansa turned around and slapped her sister’s hand. “Enough, Arya!”

When she returned her glance, she saw that Sandor was staring at her, pained and sorrowful, yet without the slightest bit of shock to be found in his eyes.  _ He knew who killed our family all along. Why else would he have been so fearful, so convinced that I’d be dead?  _

Sandor stood up slowly and tucked the handgun into his waistband. He hesitated reaching out for Sansa, as if touching her would make her vanish into thin air. Not a word was said when he finally pulled her into an embrace, kissing her again and again with a harrowing sort of desperation. His lips tasted like salt, like tears.

“There’s a mammoth of a police officer looking for us and you two are going to fuck in the breezeway?”

His lips were quivering against hers when he pulled away.  _ He still can’t believe it,  _ Sansa thought. Maintaining his silence, he took a step towards Arya and astonishingly, wrapped one arm around her shoulders, hugging her the same way their half-brother, Jon, often did. In different circumstances, it would have been an amusing sight, but just then it tugged on her heartstrings to watch Sandor say thank you the only way he knew how. And what was even more surprising, Arya didn’t even object to it.  _ But she will once she knows he’s related to the Mountain. _ The thought made her shiver.

Sansa unlocked the door to her apartment and was welcomed by a restless, anxious Stranger who greeted each of them eagerly— even Arya. As she latched the door closed, locking the deadbolt as far as she could turn it, she heard Arya begin to curse and groan.

“Seven hells, not now. Can’t you wait?”

Once Sansa entered the living room, she discovered that Sandor was waiting beside the door leading out to the balcony. “Little bird,” he said hoarsely and then walked back out into the late night. Sansa looked over at the clock on the wall and saw that it had only been a mere two and a half hours since she left for the party.  _ That feels like a lifetime ago now.  _

Her sister huffed.

“Arya, let me speak with him alone.”

She rolled her eyes and went straight towards the fridge. “It’s not speaking he wants, but whatever.”

Sansa quickly exited onto the balcony and found him staring out into the large grove of trees off in the distance, nothing but tall black figures underneath the overcast night sky. Upon her approach, he turned around and placed her hands on his lips, dropping his head down as he kissed them. His dark hair, now darker in the night, fell in front of his face. Sansa couldn’t see the tears, but she could feel their warmth as they fell onto her hands. 

“I’m sorry, Sandor.” Her voice sounded like a child’s, small and guilty.  _ None of this would have happened if I hadn’t gone to that party. And had Arya not been there…  _

He was void of words, but against her hands he was sobbing softly. It was hard to believe that this was the same man who could look so dangerous. It was hard to believe that this was the brother of the man who would have killed her, the man who killed her family.

“You knew it was him,” Sansa said when he wouldn’t speak. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Sandor lowered her hands away from his mouth but continued to hold onto them gently. “Does the name Lollys Stokeworth mean anything to you?”

The question caught her off guard. “No, who is she?”

“ _ Was, _ ” he said, making the distinction. “Poor girl had no idea what she was doing — gossipping to anyone with ears after your parents died about what she thought she saw. She was found dead in the Kingswood days later, all of her teeth nearly gone, arms and legs broken, raped bloody. No one knew who did it, but I did. And when I called tonight and heard that he was with you, all I could picture was the same thing happening to you, but worse. He’d make it worse. Knowing that I love you, he’d destroy you worse than the rest. He’d rape you and burn you alive as he did it. And he’d leave whatever remained of your corpse right outside my door. That's why I sat there and waited. I knew that I’d never find you in time. Once that call ended, I expected his next breath to be spent beating you and raping you and killing you. I sat there outside my door and considered shooting myself just so I’d never have to see what he did to you. But instead, I waited. That way when he came by, I’d be able to shoot him before shooting myself.”

The words horrified her the same way seeing him sitting inside the breezeway had, still as a corpse. “Oh gods,” Sansa cried. “Don’t say that ever again.”

His sorrow didn’t become anger, although whatever he was feeling appeared to be just as intense when he took her face in his hands with a fierce hold. “I thought I fucking lost you.” 

Arya was right. The speaking on the balcony ceased and Sandor picked her up and pressed her back against the door window, kissing her with an urgency deeper than that inside the breezeway. It seemed strange considering what recently happened, and with so much still left unexplained, that they should find themselves aching with desire.  _ It’s the adrenaline, _ she knew.  _ It has left the both of us aroused. _

The noise of metal clanking against stone startled her, prompting her to open her eyes to discover that Sandor discarded the handgun onto the ground beneath them and was moving his hand between her legs. In one fast, fluid motion, he pulled her panties to the side and took out his cock, filling her with a long groan of pleasure and a deep sigh of relief. Tears were still falling down her cheeks as their bodies met, but the crying seemed to add a unique element to the sex, something almost beautiful. Even his thrusts seemed different, slower and deeper.  _ He’s not fucking me,  _ Sansa realized, _ he’s making love to me.  _

Rather than spank her ass, he caressed it, trailing his hand up and down her skin to stir every fiber in her body. His kisses were slower, too, and kindled the heat in her core that would soon release upon her peak. The sex was not simply a means to seek pleasure but a connection far more intimate than the rest, solidifying their love for one another and strengthening their bond with each deep, gentle stroke. 

“I love you,” she wept, not out of anxiety or fear, but overwhelmed by passion.

Sandor placed one more kiss on her tear-stained lips before pulling his face away to stare at her, never breaking the smooth rhythm down below; even his eyes were making love to her. “I love you, Sansa.” The name rarely left his lips, making her arms clench tighter around his neck while her sex clenched tighter around his cock. Sandor grunted upon her response and let his face fall into the curve of her neck. “No one will hurt you again.”

It was a promise more solid than any she had ever heard, and suddenly the uncertainty and fear of what awaited them no longer mattered. Sansa grazed her lips over the scars beside her face and climaxed, squeezing around his girth and moaning into his ear without a care in the world. Not even then did his pace become aggressive; Sandor continued making love to her all throughout her release, and once she was finished, he thrusted gently and deeply a few times more before spilling inside of her. 

Afterwards he placed her down, picked up his gun, and took her hand, leading her back inside the apartment without another word. That seemed strange, too, but Sansa knew that the night was far from over and much had to be discussed.  _ The party, Elinor, Harry, Joffrey, Sandor’s brother…far too much. _

When they entered, Arya did not grimace or complain about what they had quite obviously done on the balcony. Instead, she sat at the dining table with an emptied plate, crumbs scattered on top, and wiped her sword clean with a wet cloth, the blade gleaming in the light above her.

“The Mountain will tell the others,” Arya said. “The police will find us and break down the door and kill us all.”

_ She’s had time to reflect,  _ Sansa thought.  _ Which can only mean one thing. _

“That’s not his way,” Sandor mumbled. “Not a soul will know he was injured, especially not when it was done by a child. You could have cut off his bloody arm and he wouldn’t mention it to anyone.”

Arya looked at her and then at Sandor, frowning.  _ She knows I've left something out.  _ “How do you know him so well?”

“Where do you think I got these scars from?” Sandor sat on the couch and wiped his face with both hands. “It’s time to explain, little bird.”

Sansa was expecting that. Sansa was dreading that. 

Arya slammed her sword against the table. “ _ Her _ ? Why don’t you explain to us how you got your scars!”

“I will! After she explains what happened and you explain how the fuck you are still here in the first place!”

Once the cordialness between her sister and boyfriend was over, Sansa found herself wishing that she had stayed on that balcony with Sandor all night.

Before her sister’s sword would be thrown across the room, Sansa sat beside him and held his hand. “I went to a party.”

Sandor looked at her dress as if it were his first time seeing it. “A  _ party _ ? Who’s?”

“Margaery’s,” Arya answered, mocking the name. 

_ How does Arya know? I never mentioned that, did I?  _ Sansa kept her attention on her fingers intertwined with his, unable to meet the grey eyes that were doubtlessly boring into her face by now. 

“You went to her party even after what happened at the Red Keep?”

“Yes,” she answered, her voice as small as a child’s again, “because something else happened at the Red Keep that I didn’t tell you about.”

The silence lingered save for Arya’s sword tapping against the table and Sandor’s sighing. “Go on, little bird.”

“I spoke with Joffrey. He told me that he saw who planted the bomb on my father’s car but refused to say who it was. He said he’d be willing to answer my questions if I came to the party and drank with him. So—”

“Meaning that he wanted you to fuck him,” Sandor grumbled.

“Shut up!” Arya snapped. “Let her finish!”

_ And here comes the reveal,  _ Sansa thought. _ It was only a matter of time before Arya learned the truth.  _ “I sat in his car with him. He—”

“In his  _ car _ ? That blonde cunt had you in his bloody car? With you wearing that dress?” 

“Seven hells, stop interrupting her!”

Sansa closed her eyes when she continued, ashamed, but also unprepared for how her sister would react. “I was leaving the party when I ran into him beside the parking lot. He was drunk or high…whatever he was, once we were inside his car I tricked him into telling me the name, but all he said was Clegane. So I thought it was—”

“Me,” Sandor exhaled.

The sword slid off the table and Sansa opened her eyes to find her sister holding the hilt, pointing it in their direction. Stranger placed himself in between them, growling, but Arya didn’t seem to care. “The Mountain is your brother, isn’t he?”

“Aye, you bloody she-wolf. Now put down that needle of yours before I take it!”

Arya stared at her, bewildered. “You’re fucking the brother of the man who killed our parents and Robb!”

“That’s not his fault! Sandor’s not the same and you know that!”

Arya stood there, jaw clenched, brow furrowed, sword pointed, and just when Sansa thought Stranger would run over and rip off her arm, she yielded, collapsing into her chair to resume cleaning her blade.

Sansa took a deep, invigorating breath and continued. “After I heard him say the name, I panicked and drove off.”

“And I followed,” Arya chimed in.

“So what’s your story?” Sandor asked. “You knew about this party?” 

“No, but I was never going to the Riverlands today. I only said that so I could get my sword back once I saw that Harry was back in the Crownlands while you were busy boning my sister this morning.”

Sansa winced and felt the hand in hers become rigid as stone. 

“Back in the….” Sandor gently removed his hand and stood from the couch, pacing the room slowly, cracking his knuckles, and laughing under his breath. He stopped in his place with his hands on his hips and looked at her. “Let me guess, little bird— Joffrey wasn’t the only wealthy, blonde cunt at that party.”

She glowered at Arya, wishing that she had been able to present that unfortunate detail of the night herself. “Harry was there. I was speaking with Elinor on the balcony when…” Sansa threw her head back against the couch.  _ And there’s yet  _ **_another_ ** _ detail I have to tell him.  _

“When?”

“When I spoke with Elinor, she said that she saw you…” Sansa glanced over at her sister, worrying once again how she might react. “Arya, can you leave the room?”

Sandor sighed and she wondered if he already knew. “It’s all right, little bird. Go on.”

Hesitantly, Sansa said, “She saw you kill an officer.”

Arya gripped the hilt of her sword and stood back up. “I fucking knew you were a killer! I knew it! You’re just like your brother, aren’t you?”

Sandor strode over to her and in a flash, swiped the sword from her hand, placing it on top of the kitchen cabinets and out of Arya’s reach.

Ignoring the back and forth curses between the two, Sansa asked, “Who was he, Sandor? And why did you do it?”

He nudged his way past Arya and leaned against the wall. “Preston fucking Greenfield.” Sandor cursed the name as if the man were standing there right in front of him. “Aye, I killed him, but not until that fucker would have shot me in the back of my head like the coward he was.”

“Why did he try to shoot you?” 

“Gregor wasn’t the first choice to plant that bomb, girl. First, Cersei asked me. And when I wouldn’t do it, I assume she sent that short fucker to kill me.”

“Cersei Lannister,” Arya whispered. “Gregor Clegane.”

_ It  _ **_was_ ** _ Cersei...Uncle Brynden was right.  _ “Why didn’t you do it?”

Sandor shrugged. “I worked for that family for years, sacrificed a lot, but even I knew that whoever did  _ that _ bloody deed would have their days numbered. I’ll kill for money, but I won’t die for it.”

“So, not because you didn’t think it was right to kill innocent people? You were only thinking about yourself!” Arya hissed, tossing an empty water bottle at him. “Had you fucking said something, our parents and brother could still be alive!”

“I didn’t give a fuck about anyone before I met your sister!” he boomed. “Do you know what bloody guilt I live with every fucking day now knowing that I could have stopped it?”

Sansa remembered the night he returned with the winter roses, the same roses resting in the vase just beside him, and how he had cried to her that night, saying that he was sorry. The room became quiet, not even Arya had anything to say then. 

“About Harry,” Sansa began softly. “He cornered me on the balcony and tried to convince me that it wasn’t him that vandalized my car, but that it was you.”

Sandor’s sardonic chuckle raised goosebumps on her skin. “That little shit, I’ll—”

“And then he kissed you,” Arya added. 

Sansa and Sandor’s heads both snapped towards her.

“He what?!” Sandor roared.

Had she been closer, she might have slapped her sister. “Arya, how do you know that?” 

Arya pulled out her phone and swiped through it. “When I saw that Harry was in the Crownlands, I planned on finding where Margaery lived so I could confront the both of them. Elinor Tyrell posts her whole life on Glass Candle, so it was easy enough to find out they stayed at the dorms. So I hid out in the parking lot and waited to spot them. And then I saw you,” she said, staring Sansa dead in the eye. “I snuck out of my car and followed you, watched you go inside, and then I saw Harry walk in shortly after. I thought maybe you were cheating on the Hound, I mean who would blame you?” she chuckled.

Sansa didn’t laugh at that, she scowled. And Sandor responded by smacking the back of Arya’s head.

“Seven hells,” her sister cursed. “As I was saying, I hid behind a tree and saw you on the balcony with Elinor and watched you slap Harry when he came out.” Arya laughed again. “I wish I got  _ that _ on video.”

“Video?”

Arya turned her phone around and tapped on the screen, playing a zoomed-in recording of Sansa arguing with Harry Hardyng atop Margaery Tyrell’s balcony. She couldn’t bear to watch it. Instead, Sansa surveyed Sandor’s expression, watching it become angrier with every passing second while his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides. When he erupted into a fit of cursing, Sansa knew it had been Harry pulling her in for a kiss on the screen.

“I’ll fucking kill him!”

Arya glared at him. “I bet you would, killer. Anyway, when you left, I followed you out of the gate and saw you with Joffrey. I recorded that, too. I planned on staying in the parking lot to wait for Harry or Margaery, but when I saw how scared you were leaving his car, I thought I should follow you. I kept my distance so you wouldn’t recognize Uncle Brynden’s car— it’s a good thing I did because you were driving like fucking crazy. When I saw the Mountain pull you over, I turned off my lights and stopped down the road. I knew something wasn’t right. Then when he started manhandling you, I said fuck this shit and drove forward.”

Sandor sat beside Sansa on the couch and pulled her into his lap. “How the fuck did you two get out of there?” he whispered.  _ Almost an hour later and he still can’t believe it.  _

Arya cleared her throat. “You mean after your BROTHER shot fourteen bullets at me? Let’s see, after I nearly split my head open against the steering wheel when my uncle’s car crashed into a tree thanks to your BROTHER, I snuck out the door with my sword while your BROTHER had my sister bent over the hood of his car. I sliced his calf and grabbed his gun, shot him in the arm before Sansa and I ran. That’s how!”

He didn’t scold her sister for her attitude, nor did he so much as glower at her. Sandor muttered something to himself, unintelligible to the ear even sitting in his lap, and then kissed her lips. “Thank the bloody gods.” Sandor looked at Arya and said, “Whatever the fuck you want, I’ll get it for you.”

Arya considered that for a moment, tapping her fingers on the dining table. “I want a dagger.”

“A  _ dagger _ ?” he scoffed. “Bloody hell, swords, daggers— you should have been born some five hundred years ago.”

“Well are you going to get it for me or not?” Arya snapped.

“Aye, I’ll get you one. A pin for your needle.” Sandor chuckled dryly, wrapping his arms around Sansa’s waist. While she began to think about how she would explain to Uncle Brynden what happened to his car, not to mention how they learned who worked with Cersei Lannister in killing her parents and Robb, Arya took a sharp inhale; Sansa quickly dreaded the words that were to follow.

“And I want to be the one to kill your brother.”

“You can’t,” he said curtly.

Arya grunted and folded her arms. “And why not?”

“Because that’s my job.”

“Well now it’s mine, killer!”

“Stop calling him that!” Sansa bit back. “He killed one man! A man who tried to kill him first!”

“No.” Sandor exhaled slowly and took Sansa’s chin in his hand so he could look into her eyes. “Little bird, it’s time you know what I do for a living.”


	13. Chapter 13

It was atrociously late, between midnight and dawn, yet Sansa had never felt more awake than she did in that moment. And neither had she ever felt more ill at ease.

“You…kill people? For money?”

Arya erupted into a frivolous fit of laughter, leaning so far back in her chair that she fell over, and even then she continued to laugh. Why her little sister was reacting in such a way was beyond Sansa’s understanding. _She’s either delirious from a lack of sleep or delirious from having shot and stabbed a man._

“I’m confused,” said Sansa. Her eyes never left Sandor’s, hoping she’d find humor in them. _This must be a joke…a poor joke, but a joke nonetheless._ Yet the grey eyes never laughed, they only begged. _Begging for me not to be afraid of him. Begging for me not to leave._

“Your boyfriend is a hitman.” Arya sniffled in her chair after the giggling episode. “I guess killing runs deep in Clegane blood.”

Sandor ignored the slight. “I kill people, little bird, but no one this bloody world isn’t better without.”

 _No, this is not a joke at all,_ she concluded, staring into the pleading smoke-colored eyes. “Kill for who?”

“Varys.”

Although Sansa had never met the man, she was familiar with the name. “Varys? As in the foreign affairs secretary?”

“That’s right, little bird.”

She broke the gaze when she saw Arya walking towards the couch, sitting with her legs crossed on the cushion to face the two of them. Her sister snorted when she met Sansa’s eyes but folded her lips into her mouth to hold back the laughter.

“I’m glad one of us finds this amusing, sister.” 

Arya feigned a cough to suppress her chuckle and as seriously as she could manage, she said, “So who have you killed, _hitman_?”

His arms wrapped themselves tightly around her waist, a gesture that Sansa could only assume was him begging once more for her not to leave. “Corrupt shits in Westeros, corrupt shits from Essos. There’s no bloody shortage of them. Varys delivers a name, I deliver a body.” 

The words sent a shiver down her spine. _I knew he killed before, but I assumed it was one man and in self-defense._

“Corrupt shits? But not the most corrupt shits ever — Cersei Lannister and your BROTHER?”

“Didn’t you hear what I said to you when we played that game, she-wolf? Sometimes you need to prolong the kill, wait for the right time to attack. I said I’ll kill for money, not die for it. Cersei Lannister has more security than I have bullets. Only a bloody madman would try to kill her now. And as for my buggering brother, we’ve been trying to kill each other years.”

“Why?” Arya asked.

Sansa figured it out then. “He’s the one who gave you your scars.”

Sandor’s hand dropped onto her thigh, fiddling with the trim of her red dress, almost nervously. “Aye, little bird. When I was no older than a child, Gregor and I got into a fight…I don’t even remember what it was about. Used to be when we fought he’d hit me or kick me, he was a large fucker even then, five years older than me and muscled like a grown man. But that day was different. He shoved my face into the fireplace and held me down until our father and his friends ran in to pull him off. We lived apart after that. Years later I moved to the Crownlands and learned he was here, too, a buggering police officer no less. You’ve seen him, you’ve seen the others— Trant, Moore, Blount, Preston fucking Greenfield before them, they’re all corrupt. There was one good officer when I came to the capital to work for Robert Baratheon, a man named Barristan Selmy. Poor bastard’s head was bashed in just days before your parent’s death, and no one knew who did that either — no one except me.”

“So now you’re the one bashing in heads.” Arya quipped, stretching out her legs to kick his hand off Sansa’s thigh. “That is, when you’re not bashing your dick into my sister.”

“Arya!” Sansa reproached her. “Please, not now.”

Sandor didn’t respond to the words or the kick, seemingly lost in his thoughts. “After I left the Red Keep, Varys contacted me. A secretary he may be, but he hates Cersei, the police, Littlefinger, all those useless fucks just as much as we do. I’m sure he has some grand plan but fuck if I know what he means to do. He does his planning, I do my killing— it’s been that way for years.”

“If the police hate you so much, why don’t they just gang up on you?” Arya questioned.

“Because it’s between Gregor and I. If Meryn fucking Trant or another so much as sniffed their gun around me, my brother would bash in _their_ head for taking his kill. And like bloody wise. It’ll be me who kills him.”

“You’re a shit hitman if it takes you years to kill someone! I shot your brother _and_ sliced him all within three seconds!”

“That’s because you’re a lot bloody smaller and could sneak up on him. If I—” 

When he started chuckling under his breath, Sansa was overwhelmed with dread. And when Arya joined in, she thought she might become sick.

“I could do it again,” said her sister with a fiendish grin.

“Aye,” he agreed thoughtfully, “you could.”

“Wait!” Sansa interrupted, standing abruptly from Sandor’s lap. As soon as she stood, she could feel his warm semen dripping out of her sex, soaking her panties. The sensation aroused her, but the plotting between her sister and Sandor left her exasperated. “What are you two talking about? Arya could have just as easily died and now you want her to do it again?”

“The Mountain will be weaker now,” Arya mumbled. “And slower…”

“Which arm did you shoot him in?” Sandor asked.

“The right.”

Sansa watched his eyes fill with glee. “She-wolf, bugger the one dagger. I’ll buy you three.”

Arya perked up on the couch. “What about another sword?”

“Enough!” Sansa shouted. _My boyfriend and my little sister_ — _two eager assassins._ “Sandor, can I speak with you in my bedroom?” She glared over at Arya. “ _Alone_.”

Arya flung her head back and groaned. “Seven hells, not again!”

Sandor gave her a cautious look, fearful even, before standing up and walking with her into the bedroom. Once she closed and locked the door, Sansa turned around and saw he was sitting on the edge of her bed, tapping one foot. Despite learning that he was a hired gun, she wanted nothing more than to lay with him in the comfort of her bed during the earliest of mornings and make love until first light. But that couldn’t happen, not until they spoke.

He stared at her solemnly, as frozen as he had been outside his door. It was clear that he could sense her trepidation, her discomfort, her uncertainty about his unveiled profession. And for a brief moment, Sansa thought he might even cry again. 

“Do you still love me, little bird?”

 _He thinks it’s him that I’m afraid of. It’s what he’s always been afraid of and why he kept it a secret._ “Of course I love you.”

“Even though I kill people?”

“You don’t have to, Sandor.”

The expression on his face was incredulous, as if she told him to never breathe again. “Don’t have to?”

 _This will be our first fight,_ she thought, refusing to back down. _Our first real fight._ “Can’t you tell Varys you don’t want to do it anymore?”

Sandor surveyed her for a moment before folding his arms over his chest. _And he knows this will be a fight, too._ “Remind me: what did you say was the reason for you getting into politics?”

“To end the corruption,” said Sansa, defensive. “To stop the plotting and scheming that killed my family.”

“And is that not what I’m doing? Working with Varys to get rid of the same bastards you want to bring down?”

“Bring down, arrest, throw into prison — not _kill_ ,” she clarified with venom in her voice.

“You want justice? I can give that to you by killing them all for you,” he said gravely.

“That’s revenge, not justice.”

Sandor shrugged his shoulders. “Even better.”

“Sandor!” She could hear Arya snorting and chuckling on the other side of the door. “Arya, stop eavesdropping!”

He stood from the bed slowly, a terribly ominous half-smile playing on his lips. “You know what’s funny, girl? Days ago when I told you I killed someone, I never felt that sweet pussy of yours wetter when we fucked right outside your door. But now you want me to stop?”

That angered her, but it also aroused her, despite herself. “I thought you killed one man, not several! I assumed it was self-defense! I—”

Sandor took a step forward. “So it doesn’t turn you on, little bird?”

“Sandor, stop,” she meant to say sternly but it came out as a seductive whimper.

“It doesn’t turn you on knowing that I’d kill anyone for you?” He took another step, and then another, and soon he was towering over her, the smirk on his face making her want to slap him and fuck him all at once.

“It does,” Sansa admitted quietly. “But—”

“But you want me to stop?”

“You need to!”

“Why?”

“Because I saw the gunshot wound on your shoulder! You’ve been hit once and you could be hit again and I don’t know what I would do if I lost you!” 

Sansa had been so engrossed with her rising frustration and blossoming desire that she didn’t realize she was on the verge of crying, not until the words passed her lips and she welled up with tears. She dropped her face towards the floor, but Sandor quickly lifted it back up with one finger underneath her chin and leaned down for a kiss.

“Look at me, little bird,” he said breathily. Sansa could hear it in his voice that she was not the only one aroused. “I swear it by all your bloody gods that once I kill my brother, the fucker who would have raped and murdered you, I won’t kill one bloody soul again, not unless they try to kill you or me first.”

Sansa could hardly believe what she was hearing. It sounded like it was the truth, and she prayed that it was. “Truly?”

His smirk was gone, replaced with the same pleading expression he wore upon revealing the truth. “I swear it, Sansa.”

Hearing her name on his tongue was all she needed to know that it was genuine. “All right,” she said, sniffling. “What about Arya? She wants to kill your brother, but she’ll get hurt.”

“Your sister is a pain in my fucking ass, but I owe it to her, little bird,” Sandor exhaled, taking her hands into his. “You may be sisters, but you two are not cut from the same cloth; you want those fuckers charged and found guilty but she-wolf wants them dead by that bloody sword of hers. I’ll let her help me finish what she started. No harm will come to her, girl. I swear it.”

She prayed that was the truth, too. “When?”

“Tomorrow morning. Can’t let that fucker heal, not even one bloody day.”

 _Not to mention tomorrow morning we’ll need to call Uncle Brynden…_ Sansa decided that she’d stress about that later when Sandor was not caressing her hands. “How will you find him?”

He kissed her again, and then again, pulling her towards the bed. “If he’s hurt, I know exactly where he’ll be.”

“Where?” she moaned against his lips.

“With a dumb cunt named Qyburn,” he said gruffly, tossing her down onto the mattress. “Now shut your pretty mouth and let me fuck you, girl.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of chit-chat in this one, but it'll pick back up!

The Red Keep stood before her, its enormous glass windows reflecting the morning sun.

_Sandor and Arya have their own endeavor, a dangerous one, and I have mine._

It did not take much to convince Joffrey to set up a meeting between Sansa and his mother that morning. Now phoneless, Sansa used her laptop to contact Joffrey on Glass Candle. Via direct message, she simply told him to ensure that his mother would be available in the Iron Office before noon so that she may have an opportunity to meet her. Joffrey immediately agreed with a simple thumbs up and left it at that. _He dares not disrespect me now, he dares not ignore me, not when I know what he said, not when he knows that could get him killed._

All of this had been done beside Sandor, naked and groggy after making love in the earliest hours of the morning. To say the least, Sandor had been hesitant about her visiting the Red Keep, but Sansa needed only to remind him that there were still loose ends with Joffrey and Cersei, not to mention with Margaery and Harry. Even if she couldn’t find what she needed to prove Cersei’s involvement during the meeting, Sansa intended on sowing the seeds, making her presence a frequent one in the Red Keep and slowly building her case. _I came here to end the corruption,_ she thought, _and I will._

The television in the living room had been blaring due to the sounds of their earlier lovemaking, and continued blaring until Sandor became so fed up with it he walked out with nothing but a blanket wrapped around his lower half and pulled the cord from the wall. That resulted in yet another scuffle, but even Arya was too tired to curse at him for long. They managed to get a total of two hours of sleep before waking with the rays of the sun spilling into the room at first light. 

_The day will be long_ , she knew. Sansa needed to get a new phone that day, as would Sandor when she found out he had thrown his against the cement after hearing his brother’s voice on the other end. _No later than mid-afternoon, I’ll need to call Uncle Brynden and tell him about his car, about the Mountain…._ She became nauseous just thinking about it. So nauseous that she couldn’t even fathom eating the breakfast Arya cooked for them. 

Despite the lack of sleep, her sister woke up energetic that morning, like a child excited for her first day of school. Except it wasn’t school she was excited for, but the prospect of killing the man who killed her family. Thinking of her little sister in the same vicinity of Gregor Clegane terrified her, so much so that she became sick, running to the toilet to spit up nothing but stomach bile. Sansa said a silent prayer to the old gods afterwards, begging to keep her sister and Sandor safe. 

After taking a shower with Sandor that morning, coitus included, they went their separate ways -- Sandor and Arya to meet with a former physician named Qyburn in hopes of finding a wounded Mountain, and Sansa to the Red Keep to meet the murderous and corrupt president of Westeros.

* * *

Long golden hair, emerald green eyes, beautiful and terrible, Cersei Lannister looked up from the letter in her hand and said, “Welcome, little dove.”

Sansa thought that to be the strangest greeting she ever heard, condescending even. 

“It is an honor to meet you, President Lannister,” she lied. Sansa intended on shaking her hand, but when she reached out, Cersei Lannister made no notice of it as she resumed reading the letter.

“Sit, Sansa,” Cersei said, gesturing with one hand towards the chairs in front of her.

Sansa sat in the plush crimson chair in front of the awful iron desk in front of her and crossed her legs. Cersei ignored her a moment longer before setting the letter face down on the desk and observing her like one might inspect an unappetizing plate of food. “You do look very much like your mother. Secretary Baelish was pleased to say so,” she laughed artificially. “To what do I owe the pleasure for your visit, little dove?”

Sansa thought she might slap her should she call her that again. “Joffrey may have already mentioned it, but I am studying politics at Crownlands University. I wanted to meet you and become familiar with the Red Keep, perhaps even intern here.”

Cersei smiled, but it looked like she wanted to scream. “I’m sure we can find a place for you. Your parents would be so proud.”

 _I’m through with the small talk,_ Sansa thought. “May I ask you a question?”

The golden woman picked up her pen just then, jotting down something onto paper. “Of course, you may.”

“It is public knowledge that my father and your late husband were at odds with one another right before they were assassinated. I was wondering if you knew why; my Uncle Brynden never knew.”

Without giving Sansa so much as a glance, Cersei Lannister said, “Sansa, men fight over everything under the sun; there is hardly ever rhyme or reason to it. My dear, late Robert was well-loved, but stubborn. It could have been about anything at all.” She set her pen down and flipped over the notes she had written, folding her hands atop the iron desk. “I wish I could offer you more, Sansa. I would love to be able to provide you a measure of solace, but I never did know what your father and Robert discussed.”

It was a lie, Sansa could read it in those green eyes -- terrible, like Joffrey’s.

“However,” Cersei added, “I do know that your parents, and your brother, would not want you to spend the rest of your days tormenting yourself. My children lost their father, too, but they know as well as I that he would not want them to dwell in the past. All I can offer you is this: it was a cruel person who placed the bomb in your father’s car, and it was a cruel person who shot my late husband. And I pray to the seven they will rot in the seven hells for what they’ve done.”

That wasn’t entirely a lie. Gregor Clegane was a cruel man and, should the day go according to plan, he would be rotting in the seven hells soon enough. But that was not all Cersei could offer. Sansa nodded and forced the corner of her lips to turn up. “You’re right, President Lannister. Thank you.”

Cersei stood from her desk and straightened out her red, form-fitting skirt. “I’d love to visit with you longer, Sansa, but I do have a meeting in a few minutes. Regarding an internship, speak with Secretary Baelish. I’m sure he’d love to have you.”

 _If I must speak with him, I’ll never intern here,_ she thought as she stood from the chair. “Thank you for meeting with me.” Sansa didn’t even bother shaking her hand that time. As soon as she turned on her heel, she dropped her feigned smile and exited the door, opened by an unfamiliar officer who stared at her breasts far too long to be innocent. _Sandor was right -- everyone here is corrupt. Everyone._

Having accomplished absolutely nothing, Sansa walked quickly down the corridor, eager and dreading all at once to purchase a new phone before heading home. _I need to call Arya. I need to know if she and Sandor are safe. But I also need to call Uncle Brynden._ As she considered how she might explain to him the events over the course of the past week, Sansa spotted a bald, plump man exiting a conference room with several others. _That’s him_ , Sansa thought, _Secretary Varys, the man who Sandor works for. The man who Sandor_ **_kills_ ** _people for._

She considered speaking with him, but quickly decided against it. _What would he say should he learn that I know the truth of what Sandor does? Could that get him killed? Could that get me killed?_ Begrudgingly, she continued down the corridor with her face towards the ground. 

She had not taken more than two steps before a soft, unfamiliar voice called out. 

“Sansa Stark.”

Looking ahead, Sansa saw that it was Secretary Varys, approaching her with his hands clasped in front of him, his footsteps as quiet as a whisper. “Hello, Sansa,” he greeted. His voice was gentle and light; he hardly sounded like a man at all. “You do look just like your mother; I’m sure you’ve heard that from Secretary Tyrell and Secretary Baelish already. And President Lannister, too.” _That’s_ **_exactly_ ** _who I heard it from,_ Sansa thought, _but how does he know? “_ Allow me to introduce myself.”

When he stood inches away, Sansa noticed that he smelled of lavender. “No need, sir,” said Sansa, kindly. She held out her hand for him to shake. His grip was delicate and his skin was as smooth as hers. _How can this be the same man who employs hitmen?_ she wondered. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Secretary Varys.”

“Likewise, my dear. Are you on your way out?”

“Yes, sir. I came by to visit with Cer-- President Lannister.”

Varys released a deep exhale and shook his head. “I’m sure that conversation was…uninformative.”

Sansa’s eye’s widened just slightly. _Does he know that I suspect it was her?_

“Have you been to the gardens here, Sansa?” he asked when she remained silent.

“No, sir.”

He turned around with a genial smile and gestured towards the opposite end of the corridor. “Come with me, dear. It’s a lovely morning for a stroll.”

Sansa would have rejected his curious offer so that she could go about her business, but once she caught Secretary Baelish out of the corner of her eye down the hall, she quickly accepted. “Of course.”

The garden of the Red Keep was just outside the east wing. Beside the entrance stood two large marble sculptures, each carved in the likeness of a lion on its hind legs, roaring in a threatening pose. Sansa found it absolutely gaudy, but smiled all the same when Varys looked over at her. _He may have corrupt men killed, he may despise Cersei Lannister and the rest, but does that mean I can trust him?_

Despite the horror of the Red Keep, the garden appeared to be rather quaint. The landscape was aesthetically gorgeous, cobblestone brick providing a trail beside a plethora of trees and flowers. Along the way, Sansa noticed several fountains had been built within, filling the warm summer air with sounds of trickling water, making the garden somewhat ethereal. Beside one of the fountains was a bare spot, the soil dug up, exposing torn roots, save for a single petal, blue and frosted. _There were winter roses here,_ she realized. _This is where Sandor got them from. He risked his life coming back here…for me._

They walked in silence until Varys stopped in front of what had to be the largest fountain inside the garden -- and the loudest. That’s when he spoke.

“I know, Sansa.”

She looked at him and her heart sank. “Know what?” 

“I presume he has told you everything by now.” The secretary sat down on the stone bench beside the fountain, tapping the space beside him. 

_He does know about Sandor and I. But how much does he know?_ Reluctantly, Sansa sat down, wringing her hands in her lap. “Who?”

“When I employed Sandor Clegane, I never thought I’d need to worry about him involving a lover. I trust you did not take well to the news.”

There was no reason for her to play the part of a fool any longer. Sansa gave in and sighed. “No,” she admitted. “It’s not the life I want for him.”

Varys nodded slowly as if in agreeance. “And you’ve asked him to stop.”

Sansa looked at him cautiously. “How do you know that?”

“I don’t, dear. I can only imagine that is how the conversation went.”

“Will you let him?”

When the foreign affairs secretary tittered, she felt herself ease. “Well, I certainly cannot force him to continue. There are others in my service, though he is by far the most successful in completing his…assignments.”

Sansa grimaced knowing what that meant. “He promised me that he would stop once--”

“He kills his brother?”

 _How can he know that? How can he know any of this?_ Sansa kept quiet, becoming tense once again.

“I know where he went this morning, Sansa. Him, and your sister.”

“How?” Her hands were becoming raw in her lap from wringing them so hard.

Varys placed one soft hand on her own, prompting her to be still. “Informants, dear.”

“Your informants,” Sansa began, “have they been following me, too?”

The plump man smiled at her in a regretful manner. “Yes.”

Sansa sat there underneath the summer sun, contemplating what they might have seen, and found herself becoming angry. “If I’ve been followed, why did these informants not help me when I was nearly raped and murdered by Gregor Clegane?”

A phone jingled, and it sounded like a bird’s tweet. Sansa watched Varys remove it from his loose fitting sleeve. _An odd place for a phone_ , she thought. When he looked at the screen, he knitted his brows. “My informants are….small.”

“Small?”

“They’re children, Sansa,” he said, placing the phone back into his sleeve. “The capital is quite large, as you know, and I can only be in one place at a time. My informants serve as my eyes and ears, and because they are children, they are scarcely noticed by those they follow. No one expects a child to spy on them, to come at them with a weapon. Well, aside from your sister.” 

That angered her, too. “You’ve been following my little sister?”

“During her stay in the Crownlands.”

Her hands were growing sweaty in her lap. _That text, could it have been about them?_ “You said you know where they are right now. Have you received any word from your…informants?”

Varys clasped his hands on top of his round belly and nodded just the once. “Gregor Clegane is dead,” he said, nonchalant. “As is Qyburn, but that was to be expected.”

 _Oh gods, they really did it!_ Sansa felt elated and queasy all at once. “And what of my sister and Sandor?”

“Unharmed, it would seem.”

Sansa let her head fall back, squinting at the blue, cloudless sky, and released a long sigh of relief. However, that relief was short-lived when she heard Varys shifting beside her, reaching into his sleeve again to pull out a flash drive. _Does he keep everything in there?_ Sansa wondered. _How strange._ Without uttering a word, he took her hand and placed it into her palm, closing her fingers around it. 

The lightweight flash drive somehow felt heavy in her hand. “What is this?”

“Evidence,” he whispered, the word almost drowned out by the fountain beside them.

“Evidence? Of what?”

A phone started to ring, but this one he pulled out from his coat pocket. _He has two phones,_ she realized. _One for his role as secretary, and the other for his informants._

He rolled his eyes when he glanced at the screen and slipped the phone back into his pocket. “What you have there in your hand is the evidence you’ll need to try Harrold Hardyng and Margaery Tyrell in court for vandalizing your car.”

Sansa’s mouth gaped open _._ “Harry _and_ Margaery? But why?”

As casually as one could speak, Varys said, “Margaery Tyrell considers you a threat, dear.”

“What did I ever do to her?” Sansa wondered out loud.

“Nothing…yet. Her interest in Cersei’s eldest son is not out of love, nor is it out of lust, but in the interest of influence, power. Fifteen, twenty years from now, Joffrey will find himself running for office, and what a landslide victory it would be for the son of Robert Baratheon, the man who was beloved by all before he was assassinated, to win the Iron Office. And should Margaery be married to him, that would make her…”

“First Lady,” Sansa murmured. “But I don’t understand how I am a threat. I’ve shown no interest in Joffrey.”

Varys giggled softly. “She’s not worried you will _marry_ Joffrey, she’s worried you will _destroy_ him.”

“Destroy him?”

“You know the truth now,” he said, suddenly solemn, “you know who killed your family. Not just the man who set the bomb.”

Sansa nodded, her face falling towards her lap. “I do.”

“I was in Essos the day when it happened -- tragic, unbelievably tragic.” He was silent for a moment and Sansa thought she heard him sniffle. “My informants sent me that whisper too late, and unfortunately, nothing could be done.”

She didn’t see tears on his face when she looked over, but she could tell his response was genuine. _Or he’s the best liar I’ve ever met._ “And because I know the truth, if I were to collect evidence against Cersei--”

“She will go to prison, and Joffrey will pay for the sins of his mother, never to have a career in politics as long as he shall live.” Varys shrugged. “Which is all for the better. I can’t think of a single person less competent to govern Westeros.”

“The evidence, do you have it?”

Varys pulled out a silk cloth, yet another item from his sleeve, and wiped away the sweat beading on his forehead. “I have whispers, but whispers do not hold up in court.”

Whether it was due to disappointment, stress, or heat, Sansa felt breathless and faint. She slowly stood up from the bench and walked underneath the nearest oak tree to fan herself off in the shade. Varys joined her shortly, his round face beet-red from the heat, and surprised her with his knowledge once more.

“Your father learned that Cersei Lannister was having an affair, an incestuous one. Jaime Lannister is a general in the army, as you may know. When your father confronted Robert, he refused to believe it and fired him from his campaign. It would not have lasted long; Robert was a proud man, but Eddard was like a brother to him. Unfortunately, your father confronted Cersei the day before, giving her the chance to leave the capital with her children, all of whom are Jaime’s offspring, not Robert’s. Instead, she used that time to find an able assassin, first your lover, but when he rejected, she hired the brother. Years it has been, yet whispers is all I had. But now, I have you.”

Stunned from learning the truth, Sansa could only regard him as she digested the words. She leaned her back against the tree and continued to fan herself off. “Me?”

“I’ve given you the proof you need should you desire to take Harry and Margaery to court. I’ve told you what I know regarding the death of your family. I only ask for one favor in return.”

The lavender scent lingering on his body was so strong that Sansa took one step to the side, feeling like she might become sick again. “What favor would that be?”

“You work for me in the Red Keep under the guise of my intern, speak to those who prefer not to speak so freely to me. You’ll uncover many hidden truths, truths that neither me nor my informants have the ability to learn. And somewhere along the way, you may very well find what you need to obtain the justice you long for.”

Sansa eyed him warily. “The justice I long for, or more names for you to send to your hired guns?”

He chuckled and his secret phone began to tweet again. “You _are_ a Stark,” he said, pulling the phone from his sleeve. His tittering ended when he read the message, looking up at her suddenly. “Well, your sister and lover are quite the dynamic duo.”

There were knots in her stomach, a lump in her throat. Sansa was certain she would become sick inside the garden. “What do you mean?”

The phone found its home in his loose sleeve and he took her arm, leading her down the cobblestone trail. “Harrold Hardyng is dead.”


	15. Chapter 15

Despite being curled up underneath a blanket with her bedroom door closed and locked, Sansa could hear her sister’s every word as she made the dreaded call to their Uncle Brynden from the living room. 

“Hi…no, I haven’t left…wait, Uncle Brynden…don’t start yelling…please! I can explain!…alright, well, here it goes: So, Sansa is fu-- dating her neighbor, his name is the Hound, and Harry found out about it and bashed in her car, but it’s fixed now. Then Sansa went to a party and learned that the Mountain was the one who planted the bomb in our father’s car and ended up getting pulled over by him. He was trying to rape her so I drove your car to scare him away but he shot at it like fourteen times and I crashed into a tree. I still saved her and was able to shoot his arm and slice his leg before we got away. And then this morning the Hound and I went and killed him and some doctor, but he shot at us first. Then we went to the university dorms so I could beat up Harry before he would go back to the Vale but we found him dead in his car and now Sansa thinks it was us who did it but it wasn’t us, I swear it! Also, I think Sansa might be…um…Uncle Brynden, hello?”

It was more painful listening to Arya’s poor explanation than it would have been to just do it herself. Sansa rued forgetting to lock the front door when she came home, but she had been an emotional wreck after learning what happened and ran straight into her room, jumping into her bed to cry underneath the covers. It wasn’t Harry that she mourned, although Sansa would be a liar if she said that it didn’t disturb her to learn of his death, but it was the fact that Sandor lied. _He swore to me that after he killed his brother he wouldn’t kill anyone. He swore it._

When she heard the front door open minutes ago, Sansa just barely had enough time to jump out of bed and shut her bedroom door, locking it, unwilling to face the ‘dynamic duo’ in her current emotional state. 

A gentle knock came at the door. “Little bird.”

“Uncle Brynden,” she heard her little sister say, “are you still there? Hello?” 

“Open the door, girl.”

“Move over,” Arya spat, her voice louder now. “Sansa, we didn’t do it! I hated Harry, but I wouldn’t have _really_ killed him. He was dead when we got there, I swear it!”

Sansa could only lay there underneath her blanket, unsure of what to believe, unsure of what she was even feeling. 

“Let’s give her some time alone, she-wolf,” said Sandor.

“Are you fucking serious? But we didn’t do it! Put me down!”

Sansa listened as Arya’s curses and Sandor’s footsteps gradually receded, followed by the sound of front door opening and closing. In the now-silent apartment, she was left alone to ponder. _I should lock the front door now before they return. And before Uncle Brynden drives to the Crownlands…_ The thought of him knowing the truth made her head spin.

Slowly removing the covers from her face, Sansa took in a deep breath, finding the scent of air rather sweet after having nearly suffocated herself, and let her legs fall off the edge of the bed. It took her another minute to muster up the strength she would need to stand up and walk towards the door. Her fingers stumbled with the lock and handle, but she was able to pull it open, nonetheless. Sansa rubbed her eyes with the heel of her hand as she stepped towards the front door, noticing that when she removed them the door had already been locked. Not just the one lock, but the deadbolt, too. 

“Little bird.”

Gasping, Sansa turned around and pressed her back against the door. Sitting on the couch inside the living room with one arm stretched out along the back was Sandor Clegane. His shirt was black, but it didn’t hide the stain, a rich stain that could only be blood. _Is it his?_ she fretted, _or Gregor’s? Qyburn’s?...Harry’s?_

He wore an ominous expression as he rose from the couch and the thoughts returned once again — those dark, kinky thoughts. _What is wrong with me? One moment I’m angry, the next I’m sad, and then the next I’m…_

With his first step towards her, Sandor ripped off his blood-stained shirt, literally, and tossed it onto the floor. With his second, his hands aggressively removed the belt he wore around his hips, the sound of the leather being thrown onto the wooden floor making her jump. Sansa could only stand there and watch, eyes wide, lips barely parted, dizzy and breathless, hand squeezing onto the handle beside her. After his third step, he removed the Valyrian handgun from his waistband and set it down on the kitchen countertop. Eyeing her from a mere three steps away, Sandor stood there, shirtless, beltless and gunless, but he did not proceed any further. Somehow she could smell the blood and the sweat on his skin. _So dangerous,_ she thought. _Yet I’m so in love with him._

“Come here, little bird.”

Acting on instinct, she subtly shook her head. “You lied to me.” Her voice was softer than even a whisper, like a dying breath, but full of fear — and something else, too.

The muscles in his face tightened, as did the ones in his chest. “I didn’t kill him.”

“So it was Arya.”

Sandor gave a dry bark of laughter. “No, but I would have liked to see that. Your sister is a natural, just like me. But I’ll stop for you. I’ll do anything for you.”

“That didn’t stop you today.”

His eyes narrowed as he took another step, and then his hands were unbuttoning his jeans. There was blood on them, too, she noticed as he slid them down. Underneath he wore boxers, grey like his eyes, and his confined cock was hard, so hard. Sansa exhaled sharply, and then gasped again for air. In tandem, she was apprehensive and in love and betrayed and horny — the latter of those above all else.

Sandor’s jaw was clenched so tightly that his mouth didn’t even move when he made to speak. “Come. Here.”

 _Oh, he’s so dangerous,_ she thought, her attention lingering on the bulge between his legs. _And I love it. Why do I have to love it?_

“You said it so many times,” she squeaked.

“Said what?”

“That you’d kill him.”

The two steps separating them became zero once he strode forward, seizing her face between his hands. “I didn’t kill him!” He was shouting then and her eyes shut in response. “Sansa, look at me! I swear to you, it wasn’t me or your bloody sister. Am I glad that he’s dead? You better fucking believe it. But I didn’t lie to you, girl. Look at me!”

There was conviction in his voice, not anger. Sansa’s eyelids lifted, revealing her blue eyes that were irritated from stress and sleeplessness alike. She met his gaze, and she believed him.

“I’m sorry, Sandor.”

There was a pensiveness in his eyes, and Sansa thought he almost looked intoxicated. But the thin, ragged breaths that beat against her face revealed no trace of alcohol. _It’s from killing,_ she realized. _He’s exhilarated from it. And he didn’t kill just anyone today, he killed his brother._

The hands trapping her face slid down until they wrapped fully around her neck and gave her throat a gentle squeeze. Sansa shut her eyes and pressed her hips forward, moaning with rapture.

“Is this what you like, girl?” he breathed into her ear. “Do you want me to choke you harder?”

Sansa released a whimper and nodded acquiescently. His clasp tightened and Sandor growled upon her struggling to moan, pressing his firm bulge into her belly. 

“I’m going to fuck you now, little bird.”

Her moan of delight was replaced with a sharp gasp as his hands fell from her neck and onto her breasts, ripping her blouse in half with a single tug. Sandor tore it off her body and, just as quickly, snapped her bra loose, leaving her round breasts exposed for him to kneel down and take them into his mouth. Sansa let her head fall back against the door and ran her fingers through his hair, clenching them once he bit down on her nipple. Just when she thought he meant to fuck her there against the front door, he lifted her into his arms and carried her into the bedroom, plopping her down onto the mattress before searching the drawer of her nightstand. 

“Where is it?”

Sansa propped herself up on her elbows, struggling to catch her breath. “Where’s what?”

“Your toy.”

Her face and chest burned, blushing red. _All the times we’ve spoken of it, yet we’ve always forgotten about it in the heat of the moment_ _—_ _until now._

“It’s in my closet, on the top shelf.” _Where I had put it so Arya wouldn’t come across it._

Sandor all but tore the closet door off its hinges. She couldn’t see him once he entered but listened as things fell off the shelf in his desperate endeavor to find the vibrator. The rustling suddenly stopped, and Sansa’s heart began racing. 

He exited with the right side of his mouth turned up in a vicious smirk, both eyes narrowed and locked on hers. With her glittery pink toy in one hand, he tapped it against the palm of the other as if he were carrying a club and meant to beat her. Sansa wondered how many people had seen him like this, full of malice, just before they died. Unconsciously, her legs spread open a little wider.

“I’ll give you five seconds to take off that skirt before I rip it off.”

 _He should know me better by now,_ Sansa thought, lying motionless on the bed save for her chest rising and falling erratically. _Doesn’t he know that I want him to rip them off?_ Sansa didn’t move but instead looked up at him with her blue eyes submissively.

That appeared to wake another beast inside Sandor Clegane, one that gazed at her balefully, chuckling and growling in unison as he placed the phallic wand onto the bed. He snatched the hem of her skirt with two clenched hands and tore it apart without the slightest bit of resistance. The sound of fabric tearing was as pleasing to the ear as his mouth had been on her nippe just a moment ago. Sandor curled two fingers into the thin strap of her panties and yanked apart until she laid there fully bare before him.

His eyes scanned her body voraciously before picking up what he hunted for inside the closet. Sandor squinted at the toy in his hand, inspecting the three buttons on the side before clicking one, turning it on. Over the buzzing sound of her vibator, he snarled with laughter. “I’m about to fuck you bloody senseless.”

Sansa’s pulse beated rampantly inside her throat. He laid beside her on the bed, pulled apart her legs, and propped himself up on one elbow, placing the slightly curved vibrating tip on the inside of her thigh, easing the wand slowly upwards towards her labia. One hand gripped his shoulder while another gripped the sheets, breathless moans escaping her and he hadn’t even touched her sex yet. She lifted her head off the pillow to watch as he trailed it right around her eager slit, placing it on top of her belly instead. Sansa pushed his forearm down with her hands, but he would not budge.

“Stop teasing me,” she whimpered, rocking her hips forward.

“One of these days, I’m going to sit in a chair in front of this bed and watch you fuck yourself,” he said, trailing the tip around her stiffening nipple. “I’ll sit there and stroke my cock to the sight of you making yourself come. And then,” he paused, sliding the vibrator down her belly until it kissed her clit, “I’ll fuck you.”

“Oh gods.” Sansa fought the urge to close her thighs at the initial euphoric touch, the sex toy all the more stimulating with him controlling it.

His hair tickled her breast as he leaned down to suck on her firm nipple, flicking it with his tongue while trailing the vibrating wand down her slippery folds. The tip found its way just inside her entrance before being pulled away, and then again, in and out and in and out, an almost sick form of torture as her sex begged to clench around it. Sansa was nearly sobbing in frustration before Sandor showed her mercy and shoved the length of her toy inside of her. 

“Oh fuck.” It was the only thing she could say and she would have said it a million times over. Consumed by a dark, insatiable desire, Sansa placed her hand on the back of his head and allowed herself to curse again, pressing him closer to her breast. Sandor groaned over her nipple, clearly aroused by her satisfied response. He moved the wand slowly within her, and then fast, pulling it out to tease her clit before sliding it back in. Each time he inserted it he was met with resistance of her walls clenching tighter and tighter together; they both moaned with that, and Sansa couldn’t suppress the impulse to peak.

“Oh Sandor, I’m about to come.”

He lifted his face away from her breast and slipped his tongue inside her mouth, kissing her cruelly before pulling the glittery pink wand out of her drenched folds. “Did I say you could?”

“Stop,” she mewled. “Put it back in!”

He chuckled wickedly into the curve of her neck. “Ask me nicely, little bird.”

The void of the phallic toy was almost painful; Sansa dug her toes into the bed out of desperation. “Sandor, please…put it back in my pussy.”

His teeth bit the inside of her neck followed by a chill-inducing, bestial sound escaping him. “You sound so fucking sexy.” The vibrator promptly filled her entrance, and then it started to pulse. “Shit, what the fuck did I do?”

Sansa had never moaned and laughed at the same time before, not until then. “You pressed…oh gods…that wavy button, it makes it vibrate in a…pattern.”

“Does that feel good inside your pussy, girl?”

“Oh yes. Press it again, please.”

He did without breaking his pace, and the pulsing grew quicker. “Bloody fucking hell, what do you women need men for when you have toys like this?”

Sansa’s wild giggle became a sultry moan. “Oh, Sandor. I want to come.”

The wand slid in and out of her, pulsing inside her sloshy entrance. Sansa was glad that Arya was not there to hear _that_. “Listen to that fucking pussy,” he groaned, followed by a tongue kiss. “Fuck, I’m about to shove my cock in there.”

“I want to come,” pleaded Sansa, grinding her ass into the mattress. “Oh please, let me come.”

“Beg harder.”

“Please, let me come. I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?”

“Oh yes, anything.”

Sansa’s rage culminated when she felt the vibrator leave her once again. Before she could curse at him, Sandor stood up beside the bed and pulled her arm until she laid right on the edge of the mattress. As he ran the pulsating tip over her clit with one hand, the other released his solid manhood from his boxers. “Suck my cock while I watch you come on your pretty little toy.”

Sansa stared up at the dangerous man she loved meekly, and without breaking her gaze, stroked his length in her hand, turning her head just enough to let her tongue circle the head of his cock before closing her lips around his girth. His face was taut, his jaw clenched so tightly that Sansa thought she could hear his teeth grinding together. He kept his eyes on hers, too, blindly pressing the button to change the rhythm. The pulses became short and rapid, vibrating with urgency against her walls while Sandor stirred it inside. The sight of him towering above her, fucking her mouth with his cock while fucking her pussy with her vibrator, kindled her massive peak. Her sharp moans were muffled by his length, and only then did he grant her permission.

“Go on, girl,” Sandor Clegane spoke gruffly. “Come.”

She shut her eyes so tight that the tears that had welled in her eyes from choking on his cock started to fall down her cheeks. Sansa tried to continue pleasuring him with her mouth while savoring her long-awaited orgasm, but her head fell down onto the pillow when the release devoured her. No matter how wildly she writhed on top of the mattress, Sandor refused to remove the toy and fucked her with it all throughout her peak. 

By the time that she was finished, her arms and legs were all but numb, tingly to the touch. Only when she opened her eyes back up did he turn off the vibrator and toss it onto the floor. As if she was a ragdoll, Sandor gripped her thighs and yanked her around until her ass hung off the bed, placing her trembling legs onto his shoulders. Unable to utter a single word in her current state, Sansa could only lift her head up an inch and watch as he guided his cock to her entrance, pulling on her thighs to bury it in.

Sansa cried out and tossed her head back against the damp, messy sheets while Sandor placed his hands onto the bed, leaning forward and testing her flexibility as he bent her legs back until her knees were beside her breasts. Her folds opened wide for him in the position, granting him full access to plow into her as deep as he wanted. Sansa couldn’t fight back the small screams that escaped her when the head of his cock bumped into her cervix, but the sensation was far more stimulating than it was painful. His hair caressed her face with every thrust, a drop of sweat from his brow following, and his lips came crashing down onto hers, the kiss all tongue and teeth, yet better than all the rest. 

“Gods, I fucking love you.”

He bit her bottom lip, and Sansa could taste the blood. That aroused her, too. “I love you more.”

“Not bloody possible,” he growled, removing his cock and flipping her over. She got on her knees for him, but Sandor cupped her ass with both hands and pushed her down to lay flat on her belly, leaning down onto her back to enter her from behind. “Fuck, I love feeling your ass.”

Sansa burrowed her face into the covers and gripped the sheets in front of her with both hands, taking pleasure in submitting herself to him as he fucked her hard enough for the headboard to slam into the wall. She knew that her words would be muffled against the mattress, but she said them all the same. “Choke me, Sandor.”

He fell onto one elbow and snatched her throat with his hand, forcing her head up. “You like that, don’t you, girl?”

Sansa couldn’t manage a response, not with the hand squeezing her throat, nor with the orgasm that engulfed her senses. Once she felt herself tightening around him, Sandor bit down onto her shoulder and joined her, shooting his seed deep inside. The grip on her neck tightened during his release and did not let up until his cock was pulsing inside her much like the vibrator had. 

Time seemed nonexistent then, as did all of their troubles. Before he removed himself from her, he whispered, “I…fucking…love you,” and proceeded to roll over beside her. Sansa’s head fell limp into the mattress, lightheaded and drunk with pleasure. She had not taken more than two deep breaths before hearing Sandor start to softly snore. That didn’t surprise her. _Not only did we hardly sleep last night, but he killed two men today,_ she thought. _Two, not three_ — _not Harry. Someone else did that…but who?_ Cursing herself for thinking about it after such a thrilling, passionate moment, Sansa forced herself off the bed to clean up.

Her knees nearly gave out underneath her once she stood, her legs weakened from being stretched beyond what she thought she was capable of. Sandor’s manhood was still jutting upward when she stood there to admire him. Even when fast asleep, Sandor Clegane was not a force to be reckoned with. 

Since he was laying on top of the covers, Sansa grabbed a blanket from her closet and tossed it over him before going into the bathroom. She grabbed a clean white towel hanging on the rack to wipe herself as he semen dripped out, awestruck with how much of it there was. _Or perhaps much of that is me,_ she thought, _I’ve never been wetter in my life._

It felt like she had been wiping for minutes before it finally became dry. Sansa discarded it onto the ground, but noticed something strange out of the corner of her eye. She squinted at the towel and spotted something, light and pink — blood. _I can’t be on my moonblood,_ Sansa quickly reasoned. _Not until I take the last row of my birth control pills. He_ **_was_ ** _hitting my cervix…_

Her contemplation was interrupted by a rapid knock at her front door. _Arya._ Sansa grabbed her robe and exited her room, opening the door to an overly excited Stranger and an overly irked Arya. 

“I could hear you two from out here,” her little sister grumbled. “I assume that means you believe us now. We didn’t kill Harry, but MARGAERY TYRELL did.” 

Sansa sighed at the absurd, impulsive accusation and walked towards the couch on her weak legs. “I don’t want to talk about that right now.” Stranger quickly jumped onto the cushion beside her and rested his head in her lap, pressing his nose against her belly. “I need to get a phone…what did Uncle Brynden say when you called him?”

Arya walked towards the kitchen and grimaced when she glanced into the bedroom. “He didn’t say shit. You know what that means.”

Sansa knew, and the thought made her uneasy. “He’ll be in the Crownlands before nightfall.” 

Her sister grabbed a green apple from the fridge and grimaced again when she spotted Sandor’s clothes in the living room. Once she flopped down onto the couch, she bit into the apple. “Are you going to let him meet the Hound?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“No,” Arya said with a full mouth.

Sansa wrinkled her nose at the sour smell of the apple, becoming contemplative as she ran her hand down Stranger’s soft black fur. The dog nuzzled into her, falling fast asleep just like his owner. “So, how did you two do it?”

“Kill the Mountain?” Arya giggled like the two were gossipping about lovers. “Your boyfriend kicked down the door of some run-down house in the capital and lit that shit up with a pistol in each hand, popped the Mountain in both thighs until he couldn’t walk. Then I ran inside and sliced my sword across his throat, just like I said I would. I watched him bleed at my feet and laughed. Then the Hound came up and shot him so many times in the face that he was unrecognizable. Qyburn popped in after that with a shotgun, but luckily his aim was shit. The Hound shot him in the arm, but let me finish him off. I took one of his pistols and shot it in Qyburn’s forehead for trying to kill me. You should have seen all the weird shit in that house. It’s like he did experiments of some kind…I’ll spare you the details before you start vomiting again.”

It was too late. Sansa had no choice but to push Stranger out of her lap so she could run towards the kitchen sink, throwing up nothing besides water and bile. _I still haven’t eaten today,_ she thought. _No wonder I’m so nauseous._

After she rinsed her mouth out in the sink, Sansa looked up and saw Arya staring at her from the couch, expressionless and motionless. The apple had fallen into her lap. 

“Sansa,” Arya began, pausing when she heard Sandor moving inside the bedroom. When he came out, groggy, yawning, and leaning against the doorframe, her sister scowled at him before continuing. “I think you’re pregnant.”


	16. Chapter 16

“I knew you’d sabotage her!” Arya picked up the half-eaten apple from her lap and chucked it across the room, hitting an incredulous Sandor in the head. 

He didn’t flinch, he didn’t even scold her. Sandor only stared at Sansa from the bedroom doorway, wearing nothing besides his grey boxers, with a haunted look in his eyes. The muscles in his arms and chest were noticeably taut.

His voice was edged with tension when he said, “How?” 

“ _ How _ ?” Arya scoffed. “Are you  _ stupid _ ?”

Sansa leaned over the sink and stared at her distorted reflection in the faucet, attempting to count the days since her last moonblood, but it was done to no avail. Her mind was scattered, her awareness utterly exhausted. She shut her eyes and breathed through her nose to keep from throwing up.

“I’m not stupid, you little twat,” Sandor spat. “It hasn’t even been two weeks and you think she’s…” He trailed off, fearing he might speak it into existence, she presumed. “She’s taken not one, but two moontea pills.”

“You  _ are _ stupid! A moontea pill wouldn’t have done shit if she already fertilized your little pup, and they’re not even a hundred percent effective in the first place, you dumb shit! I took Sex Ed. last year, so I know what I’m talking about. Sansa took that class, too, but apparently she was absent the day contraception was discussed.”

Swallowing the lump that developed in her throat, Sansa raised her head and eyed her sister cautiously. “Don’t you even start with me right now, sister.”

Arya returned the stare, drumming her fingers on her leg in a furious beat. “Uncle Brynden is going to lose his shit.”

“He won’t care about that right now,” Sansa lied. “You just helped kill two men!”

“With the same man who got you pregnant! Do you remember what happened when Uncle Brynden caught you and Harry in your room that one time? He told Harry that if he ever got you pregnant, he’d drown him in the Trident!”

Sansa winced. “Don’t mention that name right now.”

Her sister raised an eyebrow, folding her arms across her chest. “Who’s?  _ Harrold Hardyng’s _ ?”

“Arya, stop it!”

“Why?” Arya gave Sandor a sharp glance. When Sansa looked at him, he was running his fingers through his hair, oblivious, his mind evidently elsewhere. “Because  _ stupid _ Harry is dead? Why do you even care?” 

One of the worst things about Arya’s temperament was her stubbornness. Sansa couldn’t think of a single person more stubborn than her, not even their Uncle Brynden. And not only that, but her sister was impulsive and quick to anger. Once her sister believed something, she ran with it, refusing to quit. And just then, Sansa knew precisely where Arya was going. 

“Harry was awful to me, but someone murdered him, Arya.”

“So what?”

_ Sandor was right…my own little sister is a natural killer. And a callous one at that.  _ “What is wrong with you?”

Arya stood up from the couch and jutted out one hip, her arms still folded. “I thought you didn’t love Harry anymore.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Sandor’s consciousness return, his hands falling from his face as he awaited her answer.

“I don’t!”

“So why do you care that he’s dead?” asked Arya.

Sansa gripped the edge of the countertop until her knuckles were white. “It’s not that, it’s  — ”

“Unless it’s not the  _ Hound’s _ pup in you.”

The disgusting implication sent Sansa over the edge; all she could see was red. She had enough of her sister’s brazen remarks and strode over to her from the kitchen, avoiding Sandor’s hand that reached out to stop her, and shoved Arya’s shoulders until she fell back.

As quick as a whip, Arya stood up and grabbed a handful of Sansa’s hair, yanking her down onto the couch. Sansa slapped her face, Arya slapped her back, and back and forth they went, fighting each other much like they did when they were children, whimpering and screaming all the while. 

The burden of Arya’s weight was suddenly removed. Sansa opened her eyes and discovered that Sandor picked her up with one arm wrapped around her waist and was carrying her towards the balcony. After he tossed out Arya, he slammed the door closed, locking it to keep her trapped out there for the time being. Arya’s curses were muffled as she beat her fists against the door. But it didn’t last, and Sansa watched as she slumped down onto the ground through the partially opened blinds.

Inside the hushed living room, Sandor Clegane stood, Sansa sat, and an anxious Stranger returned to lay down beside the front door. The room felt unusually small just then. Sansa readjusted her robe after one of her breasts had spilled out during the catfight, waiting for Sandor to say something.  _ The blood on the towel,  _ Sansa remembered in the enduring quietude,  _ if I did conceive a week ago, could that have been implantation bleeding? But how can I be nauseous so early on? _ That didn’t seem consistent with what she had learned in school, but the prospect could not be ignored. 

_ If I am pregnant with Sandor’s child, I’ll never want to consider not going through with it. Myranda Royce had a baby her first year in university and she still completed her studies. Why can’t I? But what will he think? _

For what felt like the remainder of the evening, Sandor stood in front of her with his hands on his hips, his forehead wrinkled, pensive, eyes downcast, unmoving, until finally he matched her gaze and breathed slowly out of his nose. 

“Fuck, little bird.” 

Her breath caught in her throat. Sansa had seen him this way before, angry, visibly refraining himself from saying or doing more.  _ Is he mad at  _ **_me_ ** _?  _ she wondered, shifting uncomfortably on the couch. 

“Sandor, I didn’t lie about the moon tea pills. I really took them.”

He did nothing but stand there with an intent gaze, so silent.

Sansa dropped her eyes towards her lap, fiddling with her fingernails. “Arya is just suspicious…” 

“Bloody hell!” he shouted abruptly, startling her.

_ He  _ **_is_ ** _ blaming me. _

“Do you feel sick?” 

“A little,” she replied, keeping her face hidden beneath the hair that had fallen over her forehead. 

A second silence was born. Arya started knocking on the door but gave it up again when neither she nor Sandor made to open it. The half-lit living room was growing darker with the setting sun. Sansa considered getting up to turn on a light, but that would require her to lift up her head and see his expression. And she simply could not bring herself to do that  — not yet.

“I know what you’ll want to do,” Sandor said. “If I could talk you out of it, I would. But it’s not up for me to decide, is it?”

_ No, he doesn’t want me to have his child at all.  _ The thought upsetted her. The thought angered her.  _ He is responsible just as much as I am.  _ Her newfound fire gave her the courage to lift up her face. Sandor no longer appeared angry, but rather grim, as if she just ruined the rest of his life.

“No, it’s not,” said Sansa, her voice suddenly icy. “And I’m sorry, but if I am pregnant, I personally can’t consider the other option.”

He said nothing, only nodding somberly.

Sansa suppressed the urge to run over there and slap him. “I suppose that means you’ll want to break up.”

“Break up?” he asked, eyes widening in alarm. “Why would I want to break up?”

The reaction left her confused. “Well, clearly you’d rather me not have the baby. I wouldn’t expect you to want to stay.”

“You think — ” His sudden outburst of laughter frightened her more than his earlier tone. Sandor swiftly kneeled down before her, opening up her robe to kiss the top of her belly. She gasped, not just from the rush of feeling his mouth so near her sex, but realizing that she had been entirely wrong. “You are usually more clever than that, little bird.” 

“Oh.” Sansa said, at a loss for words.

“How could you possibly think I wouldn’t want you to have my child?” he said against her skin. “I thought you’d be the one who wouldn’t want to go through with it.” He kissed her belly once more and slowly trailed his lips south. Her back arched in response, encouraging him, until she remembered the towel and the blood that had been on it. Sansa had no choice but to stop him.

“Sandor, wait. I might still be bleeding.”

His tongue stopped just short of her clit. “Bleeding?” he asked, panic-stricken. “If you’re pregnant, why are you bleeding? What’s wrong?” 

Sansa almost giggled at his response, his reaction a testament to how much he truly cared. “It’s most likely just implantation bleeding,” she explained.

“Implantation bleeding?” He muttered the words as if they were not of the Common Tongue. “I skipped class a lot when I was younger, little bird. You’ll need to explain that one to me.”

“Well it’s — ” 

Sansa should have known not to take him literally. Her words were cut short by his mouth, his tongue embracing hers like a yearning lover. And with a single kiss, nothing else mattered. Sandor Clegane had a way of doing that, minimizing her worries and fears with the touch of his lips. He always had a way of bringing her back to what really mattered, saving her from losing herself in the uncertainty of what may lie ahead. 

His lips parted from hers to take in her breast, tenderly licking her nipple with his tongue. Sansa’s thighs spread apart out of instinct, allowing her to slowly grind her sex against his bare chest. Her head fell back against the couch, moaning at the sensation of him sucking on her breast as the hair on his chest caressed against her most sensitive region. Sandor removed one hand from her waist to release his cock and pulled her off the couch, turning her over and sliding up the robe to rest on the small of her back before guiding himself inside. The tension in her body melted as he took her from behind. Sansa let her face fall into the cushion, arching her back as she savored each and every passionate thrust. Sandor leaned forward with an eager growl and placed his hand between her legs, rubbing her clit with two fingers. Sansa could taste the release, and never had it been more sweet. Just as she was on the cusp of climaxing, Arya’s fists pounded against the door. 

“Ignore her,” he panted.

But then Arya did it again, fiercer, so fierce that Sansa heard Stranger leave the front door to run towards the balcony, clawing at the handle.

“Let me in!” she shouted. “The fucking police are here!”

Sansa’s worries returned, and her climax fled. Sandor grunted as he withdrew from her and jumped up to gather his clothes, running into the bedroom. Just as quickly, Sansa rose from her knees and scurried over to open the back door.

“Sansa, I’m sorry!” Arya immediately apologized, tossing her arms around her neck. “I didn’t mean what I said. I was just angry and being stupid.” She looked down and noticed Sansa’s open robe, quickly breaking the embrace. “Oh shit, you’re naked.”

“Did you just lie so you could come back in?”

“No, they’re really here! They were in the parking lot and walked towards this building with a fucking hammer!”

“What? How many were there?” asked Sansa, her hands trembling as she tied her robe.

“Three.”

A loud, thunderous boom came from inside the breezeway. It sounded like a bomb had detonated.  _ They mean to kill us the same way they killed my parents and Robb,  _ she thought _. _ Sansa ran towards the front door with a vicious, snarling Stranger and peered into the hole, discovering three officers in their all-white uniforms using a manual battering ram against Sandor’s apartment door. 

“Fuck, my sword is still in your truck!” Arya shouted.

Sansa stood there, rigid with terror, watching the officers pound into the door a second time. Two large hands gripped her shoulders just then, turning her around with urgency.

“Little bird, listen to me,” Sandor said, fully-dressed and breathless. The battering ram hit the door a third time, and Sansa could feel the vibrations beneath her bare feet. “Underneath my couch you’ll find a key taped to the bottom. There’s a safe hidden inside the wall of my closet, low to the ground and to the right. All of the money I’ve made killing fuckers like them is in it. You need to take it tonight.”

Sansa realized what he was doing and would have sank to her knees had he not been holding onto her. “No, no, no, don’t talk like that.”

His thumb brushed her cheek, wiping away a tear. “There will be enough for you and the child for years, until they are fully grown.”

Sansa hit his chest with clenched fists, the ram outside slamming against the door in unison. “Stop it! Stop it right now!”

“Don’t you dare think about dropping out of your classes, do you hear me?” Sandor’s voice broke when he said it. “Don’t you miss one fucking class. Not one!”

He cupped the back of her head and leaned down to meet her lips that quivered in her distress. The touch, as always, took them somewhere else for a moment, a place free from the corruption, away from the men in white uniforms who sought to end their short yet profound romance. Most of the kisses they had shared were made up of lust and desire, but the one that lingered on her lips just then was quite different. It tasted of all the laughs they shared and memories they made in the span of a week. It felt novel, like the first touch. It felt like seeing him for the first time, the fascination, the attraction, the spark between them that lit aflame and only knew how to burn brighter, never to quell. And all at once, it ended. Sandor broke the embrace and grabbed the pistol from the countertop, sliding out the magazine to count the bullets. Sansa looked at it with him. There were only two.

“She-wolf, take your sister!” He gave a quick whistle and Stranger promptly quieted and sat down, awaiting a command. “Stay with her, boy,” Sandor said, firmly petting the top of his head. “Do not leave her.”

Sansa clutched onto his arm, unwillingly to ever let go. “Sandor,” she sobbed, “don’t go out there, please!”

He seized her jaw like he had done so many times before and gave her that final gaze, saying those final words. “You made me happier than you’ll ever know, Sansa.”

The ram struck the door one last time, louder and more horrendous than the rest, and the door across the breezeway groaned, giving way. 

Unspeaking, unbreathing, Sansa’s eyes fixed on his grey ones, watching them shift to meet her sister. “Take her.” 

Arya grabbed her arm with one hand while carrying a kitchen knife in the other, pulling her into the bedroom with Stranger following behind. The last thing Sansa saw was him turning the handle before her sister slammed the door shut. And with her next shallow breath, a gunshot hollowed out the air. 

“Seven hells!” Arya cursed, dragging Sansa’s petrified body into the bathroom. 

A second shot was fired, and then a third.  _ Three bullets, but Sandor only had two. _ Sansa collapsed over the sink, ready to dry heave, ready to faint, ready to cry. When none of it would come, Sansa stared at herself in the mirror like she was in a drunken stupor, catching sight of the bruises beginning to blossom on her neck. She couldn’t remember what that had been from. It was as if her mind was unable to process anything at all, the shouts from her sister, the three gunshots, Stranger’s barking…it was all incomprehensible. 

It could have been a minute, it could have been an hour. Her awareness of time passing had fled long ago. The violence outside was over after those three gunshots. Sansa might have blankly stared at herself in the mirror all night had Arya not placed one hand on her shoulder. 

“Sansa.” Her voice was small and gentle. It was hardly her sister at all. “We should go.”

_ I remember when Sandor made love to me in here,  _ she thought.  _ Right here, just like this.  _

She scrutinized her reflection a second longer, watching a single tear fall down her cheek before dropping her gaze. Arya led her by the hand and opened the bathroom door painfully slow, peering out to survey the room. Sansa expected Stranger to dart through the opening, but he kept by her side, obedient and silent. Her little sister took in a deep breath and squeezed her hand, pulling the door wide open to lead her into the room. Sansa took a glimpse at the bed, its sheets freshly tousled from her and Sandor’s intimacy. The scent of him lingered on those sheets.  _ I’ll never wash them again. _

Her feet fell heavy on the carpet, walking half-dead into the living room with her hand all but limp in her sister’s. Stranger stayed fiercely beside her, not once attempting to rush forward. Once they stood outside the closed front door, Arya began to turn the handle but paused.

“Wait here.”

Sansa looked over at the winter roses in the vase behind her. The sight of them brought her back to that night. It felt like a dream. It would only ever be a dream. “No.”

“Sansa, he might be…”

“I said no!”

Arya, as stubborn as she was, did not object any further and pulled open the door.

Inside the breezeway, the same breezeway where she first spoke to Sandor Clegane, the same breezeway where she felt him spill inside her for the first time, laid two men on the concrete, dead, their white uniforms drenched and stained with blood. Sansa subdued her initial shock and took a step forward, surveying their faces the best that she could. The faces were familiar, but the names were lost on her. She scanned further down and saw a trail of blood leading to the stairs.  _ Two dead officers, a trail of blood, and nothing more. _

“He’s gone,” Sansa said in a suffocated whisper. 

“There was a third officer…”

“He’s gone.” Thoughtlessly, Sansa tore her hand away from Arya’s and followed the trail of blood that led towards the stairs, barefoot, wearing nothing besides her mauve robe. There were many heads poking out from their doors as she descended, frightened yet curious of what had just occurred.  _ They’ll call more officers,  _ she thought dismally.  _ They’re all corrupt. Sandor said so. Sandor. _

Her robe was hanging off one shoulder by the time she reached the bottom of the stairs, making for the parking lot, ill-lit with the setting sun. Arya was shouting behind her at the bystanders who were lingering about, telling them to mind their business but doing so using words far more vulgar. Stranger continued to walk by her side, sniffing every inch of the sidewalk. Sansa looked down and saw that the trail of blood continued. She followed it, stumbling over herself, and discovered that it ended just beside an empty parking space.

“His truck  — where is it?” Arya asked, gripping the knife firmly in her hand.

_ Did he make it out alive? Where’s the other officer? If he lived, why didn’t he come back? Why wouldn’t he come back?  _ The questions were endless, and each and every one would remain unanswered. There was the slightest chill in the air that evening, stirring the trees beside them, as summer slowly began to transition into autumn.  _ Or could that chill only be my fear? _

Sansa looked at her sister nonplussed and said the only two words she knew how to say. “He’s gone.”


	17. Chapter 17

“Damn him! Damn him to the seven fucking hells!”

Uncle Brynden had been spewing curses and shouting vulgarities for the past fifteen minutes, pacing around Sansa’s living room late in the night. His craggy, wind burnt face was scarlet and swollen with rage, and his deep blue eyes had a crazed look about them. 

_He’s retired now, but it’s no wonder he was such a successful prosecutor,_ Sansa thought. _Uncle Brynden can be absolutely terrifying._

Brynden Tully had come to the Crownlands in his car, his _other_ car that had not been stolen by Arya and subsequently totaled at the hands of the Mountain. Upon arriving, still wearing his black fishing shirt and shorts, he had sat down on the couch, perturbingly calm, and allowed for her and Arya to explain why there was a crime scene outside of her door. Sansa could not speak, not over her unabating sobbing and sniffling, so she left it to her sister. That had been a mistake, she quickly realized, when Arya casually said, “Sandor Clegane killed two officers and bailed.”

Arya had never said his name before then; she had only ever called him the Hound. _Why did she have to do that?_ Sansa had thought, watching their uncle shoot up from the couch. _Why did she have to say his name?_ She had wondered, crying harder.

“ _Clegane_?” he had roared with disgust. “A _Clegane_?” And so began the fifteen minute presentation of curses and pacing and shouting. Even Stranger looked anxious, nuzzled in her lap with his nose tucked against her belly. The dark hound had not left her side since his owner’s command -- not once.

Her front door had been propped wide open, allowing her to watch the corrupt officers outside rummage through Sandor’s apartment. They peered in from time to time to ask questions but Sansa kept silent, as did her sister. “Give them a fucking moment!” Uncle Brynden kept telling the men. A moment, a year, a lifetime, it would not matter. Sansa would never speak to them about Sandor Clegane, not ever.

 _And I know what they’re looking for, but they won’t find anything,_ Sansa thought. _Arya and I found the money and hid it. All of it. Millions._

“Out of all the fucking people in the Crownlands, your neighbor was a Clegane!” her uncle belted out, now stomping around the kitchen. 

_Was._ The past tense sent a knife through her heart.

“Seven fucking hells! Seven hells, I say!”

Sansa wondered if she had ever seen her great uncle so livid. And the worst part was, she hadn’t even told him that she might be pregnant yet.

He placed his hands on the countertop and dropped his head. His whole body was shaking as he stood there muttering to himself. “That son of a bitch violated my precious Sansa, initiated my little Arya into the business of contract fucking killing!” 

Arya never did well in serious situations and snorted a laugh. Sansa looked over at her on the couch with eyes red and puffy from crying, cautioning her without needing to utter a single word.

Her sister poorly covered her laugh by feigning a cough. “How do you know them, Uncle?” she asked, sweetly. 

Uncle Brynden lifted his head up with a frown. There were tears in his eyes. Whether they had been from fury, disappointment, or despair, Sansa could not tell. He walked over towards the front door and shut it closed, despite an officer asking him to leave it open. _They only mean to spy,_ Sansa thought. _They’re all corrupt. Sandor said so. Sandor…_

“I visited the Red Keep with your parents several times before they died, counseling the shit-for-brains prosecutors they have here,” their uncle began, his voice smoky and gruff. “I also visited after, when I came to question all those self-satisfied secretaries how a gods forsaken bomb managed to be planted in my niece’s car. The times I left you and your brothers in Riverrun? I came here. They couldn’t get rid of me. I’d always come back, demanding answers from those smug shits. And I quickly became familiar with their heads of security. I may be old, girls, but I’m still able and tall — taller than most of the officers in the capital. Who do you think Cersei Lannister called forward to remove me from the premises without causing a scene using gunfire? Not Officer Trant, the same fucking man who was just murdered outside your door!” Uncle Brynden paused and took a moment to collect himself, filling up a cup with water from the sink and taking a long swig. He eyed the winter roses on the counter and gave a heavy sigh. “It was Clegane. The bigger Clegane. Every time.”

“Well, he’s dead,” Arya said, with sass in her voice. “I don’t know why you’re upset. The Mountain was the one who planted the bomb! And I got to help kill him! So you should be thanking me, not scolding me.”

Sansa cringed and wrapped her arms around Stranger’s neck, bracing herself for round two.

“THANKING YOU?!” Brynden Blackfish bellowed. “Watch your tone with me, young lady! I’m not mad that he’s fucking dead, I’m mad that his fucking brother killed him while taking you along for the ride! How these dumbshit officers aren’t arresting you is beyond my understanding! If this Clegane weren’t being chased down by every gods forsaken officer in the fucking Crownlands, I’d….” He trailed off when he heard Sansa begin to sob again and gave her a look that was almost apologetic.

Aside from the sounds of her crying and the officers’ muttering outside the door, a brief silence fell. Once her sobs died down, Sansa decided that she would finally speak up. “Uncle Brynden, I love him,” she confessed, her voice hoarse and weak.

He shook his head, unnaturally slow. “No,” he mumbled, “no….no.”

“I like the Hound,” Arya added with a shrug. “And trust me, Uncle — he loves Sansa. I had to listen to _that_ plenty of times.”

His temporary remorse was replaced by another wave of exasperation. “No!” Uncle Brynden shouted, pointing a finger at Arya and then at her. “And no! That man is a killer, no different than that brother of his! He’s not a man fit to be your friend and certainly not your lover!”

“Uncle Brynden, please,” Arya said, suddenly serious. “The Hound only kills bad people.”

“Was Harrold Hardyng bad? I admit the lad was a smug little shit, but to kill him?”

“That wasn’t him!” her sister fought back. “I only wish that it was.”

He stared at Arya, dumbfounded. “What would your mother’s ghost do to me if I had let this go on? Drown me in the Trident? No, she wouldn’t be so gracious.”

“He’s gone,” Sansa said. Her voice cracked, and the sobbing returned once more. “He left and I’m pr--”

“It was Cersei!” Arya blurted out. “She’s the one who ordered the Mountain to plant that bomb!”

Sansa snapped her head at her, brows furrowed. Arya gave her a fleeting glance and shook her head. _She doesn’t want Uncle Brynden to know that I may be pregnant._

He strode forward and covered his hand over Arya’s mouth. “Of course it was Cersei,” Uncle Brynden said in a harsh whisper. “But we’d do well to play the fool a bit longer. Don’t think Gregor Clegane was the only way being paid to silence a few suspicious mouths. Those men out there cleaning up the blood off the concrete may very well be on her payroll.”

“So, what will we do?” Arya asked once he removed his hand.

“What we’ve always done — wait.”

“Wait?!” Arya bawled. She sounded as pugnacious as their uncle then. “How is waiting going to avenge our parents and Robb? We should just kill her!”

“No more of that! Gods, I can’t believe I am hearing such folly! I’ll not have you in prison the rest of your life!”

“I’d rather be in prison than see her live one more day!”

“You’re coming back to the Riverlands with me and you’re never coming back here again so long as you live under my roof! You can see your sister when she comes home on holiday, that is if you haven’t been locked in a prison cell!”

Arya huffed and jumped up off the couch, running into the bedroom and slamming the door behind her.

Sansa sat there in the fraught silence, finding comfort in petting Stranger’s jet black fur. In the past five years, Sansa had not once been chastised by her Uncle Brynden. But just then she knew it was her turn, despite being an adult. 

_The sooner it begins, the sooner it ends._

“I’m sorry,” Uncle Brynden exhaled, all but deflating onto the floor. 

She had not been expecting that. Sansa looked over at him as he sat beside her on the couch, her vision blurred by tears she tried so hard to hold back. His head hung heavy and in defeat towards the floor, as pensive as Sandor had been when discussing her potentially being pregnant. 

_I’ll tell him,_ Sansa promised herself, _once I know for certain._

“I’m sorry that he did this to you,” he continued after a minute’s rest. “I’m sorry that he involved you and your sister. And I’m even sorry that he left you — I am. But it’s for the best, Sansa. You deserve better than someone like...what I mean to say is...well, there will be others...”

He was gravely uncomfortable, that was obvious enough. Uncle Brynden never had children of his own, nor did he have a wife. Five years was not long enough for him to learn how to simultaneously keep up with two young boys and two young girls. She wanted to be mad at him for what he was saying, but knew that she couldn’t. 

_He’s not saying anything my father wouldn’t be saying,_ she thought. 

“Is this dog his?” her uncle asked when she didn’t respond.

Sansa wrapped her arms around Stranger. “No,” she lied. “He’s mine.”

Brynden Blackfish nodded, clearly unconvinced. When he moved his hand to pet him, Stranger allowed it. _He’s sad, too,_ she thought. _He knows he’ll never see his owner again._ “Seems like a good enough hound.”

“He is,” Sansa said. And then she cried.  
  


* * *

_Don’t you miss one fucking class. Not one._

Sandor Clegane’s words spoke to her every morning as the alarm on her new phone woke her up from sleep. _Thirty minutes of sleep,_ she thought. _That’s ten more than last night._

First she would groan, then she would cry, and once ten minutes passed, Sansa would force herself up from the unwashed sheets that still smelled of him and drag her feet across the floor until she stood in the shower, naked and alone.

Her hand roughly twisted the shower handle, suddenly morose. The water was ice cold but Sansa stood there anyway with her head bowed, waiting for it to warm up. Her drenched hair fell around her, dripping loudly onto the acrylic beneath her feet. Sansa stood like that for minutes, savoring the sudden steam and heat, and rubbed her hands over the small swell of her belly.

 _Sixteen weeks pregnant today,_ she thought. _And twelve weeks without Sandor Clegane._

Arya had been right about waiting to tell Uncle Brynden. A week after his sudden visit to the Crownlands, Sansa had an ultrasound performed, confirming that she was indeed pregnant. As promised, she informed her uncle by sending him the sonogram pictures via text. He never did respond that day. Arya had called her the following morning laughing incessantly, saying that he had gone out to the lake and stayed out there all night on his small fishing boat. According to her sister, she could hear him cursing from a mile away.

But that was months ago. 

And in those last three months, all that had changed was her internship at the Red Keep, the size of her belly, and her uncle’s attitude towards the pregnancy (if what Arya said was true, he was even becoming excited). The rest remained unaltered. Cersei Lannister still sat in the Iron Office, Harry Hardyng’s murder was still a mystery, and Sandor Clegane was still gone. 

Varys’ intern she may be, but not once would he answer a single question about where Sandor was or who that third officer may have been that day. Judging by the way he responded, it was as if Sandor Clegane had never existed at all. Sansa might have even started to believe it had she not been carrying his child. She wondered if Varys' little birds knew that.

After showering, Sansa dressed in a large collegiate sweater with black leggings to conceal her growing bump, forced herself to eat breakfast for the sake of the child inside her, and gave Stranger a kiss on his head before driving to the university. She would have sooner slept or cried or gone to the Red Keep to dig up some sort of dirt on Cersei Lannister, but she knew that she couldn’t. 

_I can’t miss class,_ she thought. _I can’t miss a single one._

Sansa sat in the front row of the lecture hall waiting for her politics class to begin. By sitting in the front, it gave her incentive to not break down into tears when she would randomly think about Sandor Clegane. Margaery sat in the back of the class with Joffrey and his raucous group of friends ever since Elinor, apparently, dropped the class. She hadn’t spoken to either of them since their party. Arya remained convinced that Margaery was the one behind Harry’s murder, however, without evidence, that was merely hearsay. The whole situation was odd, but Sansa had little energy to put much thought into it. 

After her politics class, she’d walk into the main courtyard and wait an hour before her next class would begin. That day she sat on an empty wooden bench underneath a large, shedding oak tree and flipped through her history book, uncomprehending of what she was reading. Like most days (or rather, like most hours), all she could think about was the man who had left her, wondering whether he was alive, and if he was, where he’d be. Sometimes the thought angered her, sometimes it depressed her. _If he’s alive, he should come back to me,_ she would think, until she realized, _if he comes back, he could be arrested...or worse._ Sansa looked up at the clear autumn sky above her and took in the fresh, crisp air, followed by perusing the other students sitting in the lawn, watching as they read and chatted and laughed; it was all so beautiful, and yet all so terrible. 

Sansa couldn’t enjoy it — not without him.

She looked down at her history book just as a teardrop fell, landing on the paper and blurring the word _Dorne_.

“Excuse me,” an unfamiliar voice called out. The tone was deep, but it wasn’t harsh. _It’s not Sandor’s,_ she thought. _It’ll never be Sandor’s._ “May I sit next to you?”

Sansa quickly raised her hand to her face to wipe away the tears with her sleeve. When she looked up, she observed a man with short brown hair and dark eyes holding a phone to his ear. He wasn’t comely, nor was he ugly. He wasn’t short, nor was he tall. He wasn’t fat, nor was he thin. And he certainly wasn’t dressed like a student, wearing a dark purple suit and thin black tie. _He must be a professor,_ Sansa thought. That didn’t make her feel any more comfortable. 

“Of course,” she said, not wanting to be rude. 

The man sat beside her, close enough for her arm to brush against his. “You’re beautiful.”

Sansa looked over at him, hoping that he was speaking to whoever he was on the phone with, but he wasn’t. His eyes were directly on hers.

“I have a boyfriend,” she blurted out. It was almost embarrassing to say such a thing after a mere compliment, but Sansa refused to make herself look available, even if Sandor Clegane was gone. Even if he had been gone for months. Even if he would be gone for years. Even if he’d be gone forever.

The man started laughing. “Did you hear that?” he said into the phone. _Is this some sort of game?_ she wondered. Growing uneasy, Sansa shut her book and placed it into her bag, making to stand up until the man said, “Wait, Sansa.”

She froze, half sitting and half standing, and slowly glanced over. “How do you know my name?” 

“Sit, dear.” The man’s voice was no longer deep but gentle, like a whisper. 

_Varys._

Sansa fell back down onto the bench and studied him with wide eyes. _Everything about him is different,_ she observed. _His nose, his chin, his cheekbones...everything._ “How?”

“I’ll be sure to tell her,” he said into the phone before placing it into his sleeve. _His secret phone,_ Sansa remembered. “Before my career in politics, I was fond of mummery, namely theatre. I never cared too much for television and film.” Varys crossed one leg over the other and glanced around. “Such a charming campus, especially in autumn. I do love visiting so often.”

She squinted, unable to look away from his disguise. “How often do you visit?” 

“Twice a week,” he said, an impish smile playing on his lips. “We have two matters to discuss that cannot be overheard under any circumstance. Even the gardens in the Red Keep are not quite intimate enough. This is much safer.”

Sansa dreaded the sound of that and subconsciously clutched her belly in her arms. “What matters?”

“I’ve hired a new intern, for one. You two will be working on a little project together.”

“What sort of project?”

Varys suddenly started clapping, his attention geared towards two teams who were tossing around a disc in the lawn beside them. The red team began cheering after having made a basket. “That game looks quite fun. What’s it called, dear?”

“Dance of Dragons, I think.”

“Hmph, how remarkably strange,” Varys muttered. “Which team do you think will win?”

Sansa was growing frustrated at the distraction but made every attempt not to show it. “Um, the blue team,” she guessed. 

“Blue it is,” he reckoned. “As I was saying, this project will not take long. You and your fellow intern will find yourselves eager to finish it.”

“What will we be doing exactly? I thought you wanted me to attend the council meetings held in the Red Keep to see if I can learn—”

“We’ll never learn anything that way, dear. Perhaps one or two whispers, but nothing that will ever incriminate Cersei for her wrongdoings. We must accept that and move on.”

“ _Move on_?” Sansa stood up from the bench so quickly that she felt a sharp pain in her lower belly and winced. She waited for the players’ uproar to die down before speaking — the blue team had scored. “I became your intern for that reason and that reason alone.”

Varys smiled, a gleam present in his different, darker eye. “Cersei will never admit to her plots, but another will.”

Before Sansa could ask him to elaborate, she felt a gentle touch on her shoulder. _Arya,_ she thought, until she turned around and discovered someone else entirely.

“Hi, Sansa,” Elinor Tyrell said. The pretty girl no longer wore her hair down in loose curls, but instead tied it up into a simple bun. Her clothes were different, too. Rather than wear a dress, she wore dark slacks and a modest blouse that showed not a bit of cleavage. She was not texting, nor was she giggling on her phone. That playful demeanor about her was gone, replaced by something else — something solemn. It hardly looked like the same young woman at all.

“Elinor,” Sansa gasped. “I’m sorry, but I’m in the middle of—”

“Meet my new intern, Sansa,” Varys interrupted, with a hint of glee in his voice.

Elinor’s big brown eyes stared at her, stern and disconcerting. “I’m sorry for everything, Sansa. I knew what Margaery did to your car, but I didn’t tell you. I knew that she took you to the Red Keep to tell Cersei that you blame her for your parents death, but I didn’t warn you. And I knew that she meant to have you and Harry hook up at the party so that she could take a picture of it and give it to your boyfriend, but I never said a word. I’m sorry for it all. But you should know that I’m done with it.”

Sansa felt little jabs in her belly and wrapped her arms back around it, protective. “Done with what?”

“Being Margaery’s sidekick. For years I thought it was men like Sandor Clegane who I should be afraid of, but it’s not. It’s men like Joffrey.”

The mention of Sandor made her eyes well up with tears, but the mention of Joffrey left her confused. “What did Joffrey do?” 

Elinor leaned forward and placed her mouth just beside her ear, whispering, “He killed Harry.”

As if she was expecting her response, Elinor reached out to grab Sansa’s arm, preventing her from falling back. Sansa looked at her with her mouth gaped open, uncertain of what she wanted to say. “Why?” was all she could manage.

Elinor’s response was interrupted by the blue team rallying again, scoring another point.

“Oh, she can discuss that tomorrow,” Varys cut in, taking a quick peek at his watch. “Joffrey knows his mother’s crimes. Should he find himself in trouble, I do not doubt he will confess his mother’s sins in court should the judge offer him a less severe punishment. Believe me, the son has very little love for his mother — little love for anyone, for that matter.”

She stared at Elinor, and then at Varys, thoroughly perplexed. “Why did you wait to do this? It’s been months!”

“We had to wait for certain vacancies to be filled, dear,” Varys explained. “Police, congressmen, judges, lawyers…”

 _All those that Sandor and Varys’ other hitmen have killed over the years,_ she knew.

“And have they been filled?” asked Sansa.

He grinned. “Oh yes. No longer do we have an _entire_ system working in favor of Cersei Lannister.”

“Now we have half a system that works in favor of you?” Sansa quipped.

Varys giggled. “Very clever, sharp as a whip. I do expect you’ll be receiving a call from your uncle shortly.”

Sansa tilted her head to one side. “My uncle?” 

“I’ll let him explain,” the disguised foreign affairs secretary said. “Elinor, dear, we’ll all meet tomorrow in my office at noon and discuss the details then. If you’d be so kind, I’d like to speak with Sansa alone.”

Elinor nodded and then, quite abruptly, gave her a hug. Sansa found it surprisingly comforting, and desperately needed. “I’m sorry,” Elinor said again before pulling away. She took a swift glance down at Sansa’s covered belly but never said another word, and departed towards the main building.

Varys stood up from the bench just then and stretched out his arms, checking his watch once more. “It’s about time you were off, Sansa.”

She pulled out her phone from the side pocket of her leggings and peered at the screen. “My next class doesn’t start for another thirty minutes.”

“You’re not going to be able to make it to your next class, dear. That’s the second matter I wanted to discuss with you.”

“No, no, no,” Sansa stammered. “I can’t miss a class — not one.”

The blue team playing Dance of Dragons cheered in the lawn, tumultuous and wild. By the looks of it, they won the game. 

Varys clapped for the winning team, picked up her bag, and took her arm, leading her towards the parking lot. “ _He_ said that you can, just this once. And just a moment ago on the phone, he told me to tell you that he’s ready for you to come home.”


	18. Chapter 18

At that hour, the parking lot was nearly empty. By late morning, everyone was either at work or in class. Her eyes scanned the near empty parking lot, desperately searching for a black lifted truck as she drove through the gates. She would have been able to find it easily had it been there, but it wasn’t. Sansa hastily and crookedly parked beside the building, ripped off her seatbelt, and jolted out of her car, clutching her belly with one arm as she scurried up the stairs. 

_I need to keep running,_ she thought once fatigue kicked in. _He’s waiting for me._ A cramp developed in her side just underneath her ribs, forcing her to slow down. Sansa gripped onto the handrail and pressed on, despite the pain. _Gods, why did I decide to live on the third floor?_

She was half way up and gasping for breath when she heard someone begin to ascend the stairs behind her, a large someone. Sansa instantly fell into a motionless state with her hand floating an inch above the rail. Listening and listening, she stood there frozen on the stairs, and relived a moment in time. 

_It’s all so similar,_ she thought, hearing the someone grow closer. _The stairs, the footsteps, not being able to move. Much like the day I moved in. Much like the day I met_ _—_

“What are you waiting for, girl?” a voice asked. A rough voice. A rasping voice.

Her heart fluttered, reawakening, as if she had not truly been alive before then. She became lightheaded and dizzy, not realizing that she had been holding her breath to listen to the approach. Sansa’s knees gave out a second after the familiar voice spoke, causing her to fall back into the man, just as she had done four months ago. Those same arms embraced her, preventing her fall by wrapping around her waist and holding tight, never wanting to let go.

“Gods,” Sandor Clegane gasped, slowly running his hands underneath her sweater. His hands were warm, even in the crisp autumn air, caressing over the swell his seed had created. They were rougher than she remembered, calloused and tough. They were the same hands she would fantasize about while touching herself, picturing them teasing her nipples, grabbing her throat, rubbing her clit and fingering her sex. They were the same, but also different. He took in a great breath, like he was reawakening too, and whispered, “My little bird.” 

What were words to her then? Nothing, only something gone and lost. 

He must have noticed her speechlessness, too, and said not another word. Instead, he effortlessly cradled her into his arms, held her close against his chest, and ascended the remaining stairs. 

She lifted her head, unable to see him clearly through the tears that had welled in her eyes. Sansa wiped at them frantically, desperate to look upon the face she thought she would never see again. Part of her feared she was only imagining it, part of her feared it was some sort of trick. _No, it’s really him,_ she thought, gazing over every inch of his visage. His hands were not the only thing about him that had changed. _It’s the same man I fell in love with, but different._

His skin was darker from the sun, a shade or two away from bronze, and his dark hair was half a shade lighter, and longer, too. He had grown in a beard, the same color and texture as the coarse dark hair she remembered him having on his chest, though it did not grow in on the left side over his scars. That’s when she noticed his face was thinner, his right cheekbone sharper than it had been before. Thinner, though his arms and chest did not feel any less muscled, nor did he appear to be any weaker. Sandor Clegane was much the same, but different.

Bereft of speech still, Sansa couldn’t look away from him. She lifted a shaky hand and ran it down his scars, praying again that he was real. He looked down at her with eyes gray and adoring, softer than before, different... _Something’s happened to him,_ she fretted, wondering if he had been under severe duress all this time. But then he lowered his head and kissed her, more intimate than ever before, and the fretting ceased all at once.

Having yet to remember a single coherent phrase in the Common Tongue, Sansa tossed her arms around his neck and clung onto him for dear life, kissing him almost clumsily as he carried her up the stairs. Without breaking his stride, he kissed her back with matched longing. The kisses followed and followed, and soon they were making out, tongues and heavy breathing and all. It was all the same, but different, better than before. The distance apart had done something to the two of them. The time spent apart made them fonder and more understanding of the other, as ironic as it seemed. Upon the first embrace, she was intoxicated, more faint than she had been standing on the stairs. His lips were of the sweetest of tastes, and the addition of his unkempt facial hair added to it, giving her something foreign.

He was the same, but different. And more titillating than ever.

As soon as he stepped inside the breezeway, Sansa could hear Stranger crying beside the door, clawing at it rampantly as they approached. Without taking her lips away from his, she reached into the pocket of her leggings and handed him the lanyard with her key. He fumbled around with it to open the door, blind due to their continued embrace, but managed to unlock it all the same. Once it opened, they had no choice but to pull their lips apart and take a breather. Stranger was the happiest dog in the world just then, crying and barking and jumping and licking at them they entered. With her still in his arms, Sandor kneeled down and scratched the hound’s chest, petting him firmly on his head while giving him all the praise in the world. Stranger broke away after a moment and sniffed Sansa’s belly, softly nudging it with his nose, as if informing Sandor that she was pregnant with his child. “Clever boy,” Sandor said to the enthusiastic hound and stood back up, locking the door behind him. Dutifully, Stranger sat beside the door, visibly eager to return to guarding his family.

Afterwards, Sandor carried her into the softly-lit bedroom. The late morning autumn sun seeped in through the spaces between the blinds, illuminating the slept-in, messy sheets atop her bed with rows of golden lines. He sat her down onto the edge of the bed where her hair would shimmer in the gentle sun. While standing, he grasped the bottom of her sweater and lifted it over her head. As she sat there, topless, wearing only a demi cyan bra and black leggings, his breath caught in his throat. Sandor kneeled down on the floor and placed his hands on either side of her belly. Those same but different hands were trembling. 

“Gods,” he said again. Sandor leaned forward and placed his lips on the middle of her growing bump, planting the smallest and gentlest of kisses. His beard tickled her skin, causing her to giggle. Just then, she felt little kicks on the right side of her belly, right where Sandor’s mouth had been. He pulled away and stared at her in awe. “A boy or a girl?”

Sansa cupped his face with her hand and swallowed back the tears of elation. At last, she said, “I don’t know yet.”

He fell back silent and placed his hand where their child had kicked. Another jab soon followed and Sandor laughed under his breath, wiping his hand through the thickness of his beard, unbelieving. As he leaned forward to kiss her again, a long whimper escaped her, her joy slowly becoming something else.

Where her words would have failed to accurately express her desire for him, her actions would not. Sansa reached back with both arms as he caressed her belly with kisses and unclasped her bra, slowly teasing the straps down her shoulders. Sandor looked up at her then, his face mere inches away from her breasts. She lowered her hands with an alluring quality, let the bra fall onto the floor, and sat there, breathless and exposed.

“Bloody. Hell.” Sandor growled, as if it were his first time seeing them.

And in a way, it was. Her breasts were substantially larger since becoming pregnant, fuller and heavier, and her nipples were no longer a soft pink, but several shades darker. She even had developed a few stretch marks from how quickly they had grown. But before she could feel insecure about it, Sandor took one into his hand and placed a nipple in his mouth, moaning against her breast as he sucked.

Sansa released a lusty moan of her own, gasping at how tender her nipples felt inside his mouth. He sucked on the one and then moved on to the other, rolling his tongue around her nipple as he took in more of her swollen breast. 

The sensation of her climax was already on the horizon. Sansa squeezed her thighs together to prevent it from coming and grasped for words. “I want you in me, please,” she begged.

Sandor lifted his mouth from her breast and pressed his lips heavily against hers. His tongue tasted even sweeter. “I’ll last three bloody seconds, girl.”

“So will I,” she said, followed by another tongue kiss. “But then we can do it again, and then again after that, and _—_ ”

Before she could finish, his tongue filled her mouth, as rough, calloused hands snatched off her leggings, leaving her nude before him. He opened her legs wide and placed his palm over her folds, running one finger up and down her slit. Sansa cried out against his mouth, so close to climaxing, and listened to how wet she was. “Please,” she mewled. He pulled his mouth away and looked down, his soft gray eyes now hard again, fixated on her yearning sex.

“Make that two seconds, little bird.”

That would have made her giggle had he not been tormenting her with anticipation. Sandor leaned forward again, but rather than engulfing her breast, he placed his tongue on her clit and feasted on her, full throttle at the start.

Sansa was two licks away from coming on his mouth when she pushed his head back, all but in tears. “I want you, please!” 

He looked up at and read her desperation, returning it with his own. Within seconds, his shirt and pants had come off and he was standing in front of her with his cock harder than she had ever seen it. She saw his tan lines then, distinguishing which skin had been exposed to hours and hours of sun and which had been covered; he was bronzed everywhere, except on his groin. 

Sansa took his cock into her hand and stroked it just the once before he picked her up, laid on top of her messy sheets with his head against the pillow, and sat her down onto his lap. He stared up at her and growled minaciously, his beard glimmering in the sunlight with the arousal from her sex.

“One second.”

She gazed down at him, flushed and ravenous. It didn’t matter to her if he lasted one second. It didn’t matter to her if he lasted one stroke. Sansa’s body craved him like her lungs craved the fresh autumn air. Without wasting another breath, Sansa lifted herself up, reached back for his cock, and sat down onto it all in one satisfying, fluid motion. 

Moaning was not the word to describe the sound that escaped the two of them. Neither was crying or yelling or screaming. It was like taking that first gasp of air after holding your breath underwater for minutes. It was how she imagined it must feel coming back to life after death, the connection of their bodies stimulating each and every sense all at once, much like when she heard the sound of his voice. _His voice,_ Sansa thought, steadily grinding on top of him while listening to all the vulgar words she missed. He gripped her thighs fiercely and clenched harder still as she swiveled her hips faster. It wasn’t only her breasts that were tender, but her sex was, too. Even her walls felt swollen, squeezing around his girth tight and unrelenting. 

As she rocked her hips, nearing her hasty climax, Sandor made the mistake of opening his eyes to watch her. In consequence, he met his end, seizing control of her hips and lifting her up and down his cock as he climaxed. His sudden aggressiveness, the sight of him underneath her, and the sensation of his semen shooting deep inside her was all it took for her to join him in the ecstasy. 

She could hardly take it. Four months apart and her body had forgotten how it felt to clench around him, to reach that peak and come down from it with the sensation of him stirring inside her. Sansa savored it and captured every detail of the brief moment as if it would be the last, just like she wished she would have done the last time he made love to her. She pressed her hands against his chest and dropped her head as she cried out in agonizing pleasure. 

It lasted longer than a second, it even lasted longer than three, but that moment still passed in the blink of an eye. She continued sitting on him afterwards, eyes closed, head down, Sandor’s cock still pulsing inside, and evened her breaths, desperate for another round. When she tried to circle her hips, he groaned in agony and pulled her off, laying her to rest snug beside him.

“Gods, I missed you,” he panted.

Sansa took his hand and held it to her face, kissing over every inch. “Don’t ever leave me again.”

“I won’t,” said Sandor, his voice quivering. Sansa looked up at him and discovered tears in his eyes, golden liquid falling down his cheek with the morning sun. “Gods, I thought I’d never be able to come back to you.”

Sansa lifted her head and kissed away the tears. “Where were you all this time?”

“Dorne.”

 _Dorne._ Sansa remembered her own teardrop falling onto her textbook earlier that morning, blurring the same word. _A sign from the gods,_ she thought. _But too late. Four months too late._

“Why Dorne?” she asked.

“Varys has associates there. We drove south together as soon as Trant and Moore got what was coming to them.”

Sansa remembered the two dead white-uniformed bodies outside of her door that evening. It had been the same two men who harassed her outside of Darkstars, the same two men Margaery introduced her to in the capital. But the part about Varys confused her. “You had time to meet him at the Red Keep?”

Sandor chuckled. “I didn’t need to, girl.”

 _Of course,_ she realized, _Varys is some master of disguise. I saw that for myself this morning. “_ He was the third officer,” she thought out loud.

“My clever little bird,” he said, kissing her lips. “I’ll die before I ever leave you again.”

Suppressing the urge to sit back on top of him, she asked, “Why were you gone so long?”

“I had to wait for Varys to carry out his plan,” Sandor began. He traveled his hand in circles over her belly as he spoke. “Killing cops, replacing cops, removing evidence, all that bullshit. With my brother dead, half the police in the capital were looking for me. Those fuckers had no evidence but they would have killed me all the same, bugger a trial.” Sandor gave a long sigh. “But it’s over now, little bird. My name’s been cleared, and the worst of those shits are six feet under.”

Sansa’s eyes studied his naked body, tan and slightly lean and muscled like an ox. When her eyes fell on his cock, she quickly looked at his face before she really would begin round two. “What did you do in Dorne?”

“Harder work than killing.”

“Like what?” she asked, perturbed by his response.

“Burned bodies, buried them, tossed them into the sea, all day, every bloody day. A gravedigger, I was. Cleaning up after Varys’ other hired guns.” 

The thought made her nauseous. She was hoping to be done with that after her first gruesome trimester. “But no killing?”

He dug his face into her neck and kissed her there. Sansa dissolved into a fit of laughter, his beard tickling her more than she could bear. “No, little bird. No killing,” he said firmly. “I promised you, and I’ll never break that promise.”

Sansa listened to the words with rapture, and then she couldn’t take it anymore. Due to her growing bump, and what seemed like useless abdomen muscles, she struggled to sit herself up on the bed. Before she could straddle him, Sandor held her waist and said, “I almost forgot _—_ I brought you back a little something.” 

“Truly?” Sansa squealed with delight, despite initially being vexed by him stopping her.

He sat up and wrapped his hand around the back of her neck, kissing her slowly and deeply. “Lay down and close your eyes, little bird.”

Sansa giggled and followed his instructions. Once she laid down with her head on the pillow, hands clasped together just underneath her belly, she playfully said, “Alright, I’m ready.”

She listened as he stepped off the bed and fumbled around with something for a brief moment. Once he returned to sit beside her, he placed something light and small in the center of her bump.

The curiosity was all consuming. “Can I open my eyes?”

Sandor took a heavy breath. And almost in a whisper, he said, “Yes.”

Avidly, her eyelids lifted and she glanced down at her belly. When she saw what it was sitting atop the little bump, her heart leapt in her chest, and their child grew restless again.

“I love you, Sansa Stark,” he began solemnly, “I’ve always loved you, from the moment you nearly made us tumble down the stairs. Before you, my life had no meaning _—_ none at all. But now I have you and soon a child. I know I don’t deserve you, and I know there are millions of other men out there better suited for you. But I’ll never hurt you, I’ll never lie to you, and I’ll never betray you. I’ll love you through everything, little bird, and I want to spend the rest of my life doing just that.”

Sansa was crying softly at first, but by the time he finished, she was sobbing _—_ tears of bliss, and cries of joy. Her whole body shook as she cried, causing the small blue velvet box to fall off her belly and back into his hand. Sandor opened it that time and held it out for her to see. The late morning sunlight illuminated the ring inside, revealing the glittering halo setting decorated with pave diamonds that encircled the center gem _—_ a pear-cut diamond that sparkled brilliantly, brighter than the summer sun four months ago.

He removed the ring from the box and took her left hand in his, sliding it onto her finger. The fit was perfect. He was perfect. Everything was perfect. 

Sandor lifted her hand to his lips, kissed the top of the ring, and whispered, “Marry me, Sansa.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is on hiatus, but I do intend on finishing it! Thank you all for the love you continue to show this story.
> 
>  **Connect with me on** [Tumblr!](https://thequeen--in--thenorth.tumblr.com/)


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